


What's Up, Danger?

by for_autumn_i_am



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Anal Fingering, Armitage Hux is a Tease, Bickering, Boot Worship, Come Eating, Dominant Kylo Ren, Fix-It, Force Visions, Force-Sensitive Armitage Hux, Ghosts, Hand Jobs, IN SPACE!, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Intercrural Sex, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Manhandling, Masturbation, Muzzle Kink, Muzzles, Non-Penetrative Sex, Porn With Plot, Post-TLJ, Praise Kink, Rimming, Sex Toys, Size Difference, Submissive Armitage Hux, Teacher-Student Relationship, kylo ren's monster cock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 21:36:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18583057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_autumn_i_am/pseuds/for_autumn_i_am
Summary: Two months after the events of TLJ, Kylo goes on a mission to recover Snoke’s will, and learns a fateful secret: Hux, whom he’s been pining after for years, is Force-sensitive. Cue to a thinly veiled excuse to write Hux wearing a muzzle during spiritual sex."Learning so fast. Your telekinetic abilities will soon be beyond reproach.""What do boys with irreproachable telekinetic abilities get, sir?” Hux asks, breathless. Kylo hums, dips his cock between Hux’s thighs, experimental."They get fucked if they hold still."





	What's Up, Danger?

**Author's Note:**

> **Note on the tags** : Kylo and Hux have a safe, sane and explicitly consensual kinky sex life in this fic, but their dom/sub (master/apprentice) relationship was not meant to accurately portray traditional BDSM dynamics (seeing that they're supervillains in space aided with telepathy—establishing consent is easier, STDs are not a concern, etc).
> 
> The fic briefly mentions Kylo having had sex with some of his male Knights, and his (false) assumption that Mitaka was attracted to Hux. Hux’s past lovers are referred to, but remain unnamed.
> 
> Please refer to the end notes for **content warnings** , and see the tags for the kinks featured.

Hux is wearing the robe again.  Ren used to think it was strategy, something _for_ and _because of_ him, a frivolous attempt at seduction. 

He knows better now.

Hux looks worse for wear. His pretty smiles have faded, then vanished altogether; the circles under his eyes are getting heavier; he used to be devastatingly ravishing, when Kylo met him—he was so mad about it—he thought of Hux as a worldly temptation, a test by Snoke to measure his devotion to the Force. Hux objectively looks awful now, slumped on his couch, eyebrows pale and frizzy; his legs, usually silky, are peppered with light ginger hair. It’s only natural, but it shows he no longer cares. His robe threatens to fall off his shoulders any minute, reveal the chest he’s been hiding so selfishly for years, and he doesn’t reach to fix it.

Hux is the shadow of his former self, an outrageous caricature, but Kylo wants him all the same.

It’s a game he plays.

“I believe it _is_ a concern,” Hux says, keeping his eyes on the datapad (bloodshot, but there: that glint of green, of silver). “You should consult with the head of security.”

“I’m consulting you,” Kylo says.

It’s getting late. The Finalizer is deep into gamma shift. Hux is off-duty, but Kylo came to see him, to see if the door would open for him, even after Crait. Hux used to be friendly, ready to rub shoulders, in any case. At some point, Kylo ran out of refusals. Ran out of ways to demonstrate he didn’t need him, didn’t need anybody, that he could resist. There’s nothing left to prove, is it? There’s nothing—

“Ill-advised,” Hux says. “You must suspect I am tempted to share the disquietude regarding the legitimacy of your position, Supreme Leader.”

Kylo suppresses a smirk. His emotions need to be disciplined. He hasn’t yet put the mask back together. He hasn’t yet decided which path to take, now that he’s free. Now that Snoke is gone, truly. So he sticks to control: it’s familiar. He hides his smile, and doesn’t look at Hux, addresses his bare shoulder as if the softness of it went unnoticed. “Your misgivings make you the perfect candidate to advise me how should I convince the dissidents of the Order to accept me as Leader.”

“Have you tried choking them?” Hux deadpans.

“Did it work?” Kylo bites back. There’s a moment of excitement as Hux pales in anger, his nose twitches, but he’s quick to lose interest, falls back into his indifference. His caf table is littered with empty mugs, an odd bottle, pieces of uniform. He’s watching that, instead of getting into the argument. Kylo always appreciated their bickering, in his own way; it was annoying to be challenged—he never tolerated that—but it was human, the only human interaction he had for _years_ , no _yessir_ and _rightaway_ but _iwon’thaveyouquestionmymethods_. 

“I believe that at the source of certain misgiving is the fear that you’re setting a precedent,” Hux says. His voice is rough around the edges; he’s been screaming orders the entire day. “If this is the way one can become Supreme Leaders—if we accept your rise to power as legitimate—”

“What else would you suggest?”

“Nominations,” Hux mutters. Reaches for a mug on the caf table. Peers into it. Makes a face. Puts it back. Meets Kylo’s eyes, for a moment. “Leader Snoke should’ve appointed you.”

“I’m going out on a limb,” Kylo says, “but it might be too late for that.”

Hux doesn’t deign that with an expression. Falls back onto the couch, stares into space vacantly.

“He had a will,” he says slowly, “didn’t he?”

Kylo remains still.

“He might have had,” he admits.

“Do you know where—”

“If there was a will, I’d know where he kept it, possibly.” 

“The second moon,” Hux muses, surprising Kylo. “That’s what I know of. The holocron.”

Kylo just nods. Snoke tasked him with its recovery in case of his untimely demise. It’s been over two months, but Kylo wasn’t particularly inspired to comply with the request, for reasons undisclosed.

“Do you believe that it would help my case?” 

“If it names you as his successor, then certainly,” Hux nods curtly. “Unless he had reason to suspect you might have an involvement in his—”

“Watch it.”

“—death, by which I merely mean your regrettable failure to protect him.”

The accusation hurts, even though Snoke didn’t deserve protection. Kylo shifts in his seat. Hux is getting under his skin. Kylo almost wishes Hux had the wits to flay him. Discover his greatest moment of victory to date, even surpassing the massacre at Skywalker’s temple. That was brute Force, anger; the coup has been calculated. He needed Snoke to trust him just as much as the girl did. Both of them had to have blind faith in him. Hux would appreciate the logistics of manipulation, surely.

“He couldn’t have foretold what happened to him,” Kylo says softly.

“Nobody could have predicted that a teenage girl would get to our top-security ship and murder him and all his guards single-handedly,” Hux agrees. “Knocking out his apprentice, for the second time, leaving him to die but doing no harm—”

Kylo can feel the scars burning as his face heats in shame. He lets it slide. Puts his elbow on his knee, watches Hux, scrutinizing. Watches him look away. How he touches his neck, briefly. _I’m sorry_ ; that’s what it would take—an apology, a consolatory rank, a bottle of whatever. But as long as Hux fears him, Kylo is bound by regret and shame. His desire is kept at bay, as it should be. He’s not in danger to let Hux catch on his attraction, scheme and plot to use it for his own benefit.

“If he named someone else as his successor?” Kylo asks. 

“Pardon?”

“You.”

Hux scoffs. Blinks a few time, now truly troubled. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“We were both his pets. We were starved by the same hand.”

“It’s over.”

“And you never said thanks.”

Kylo leans back in the leather chair, watches the effect of his veiled admission. Hux’s Force-signature is null, as always, but Kylo can almost taste his outrage. A confirmation like this could be a death sentence. Anyone else would be afraid. Hux just seems upset by the humiliation, the unfairness of  sharing the guilt with the doer.

“You should go alone,” Hux suggests, diverting the topic with the clever ease Kylo missed, his unflinching sabacc-face, the boiling rage behind it. His apathy must be broken. Hux is useless like this. Hux is...missed. “After you have reviewed Snoke’s will, you can decide how to proceed.”

“I’d need a witness,” Kylo says. “Even if I bring the holocron back, I might be accused of manipulating its contents. They don’t fear me, General; they fear my power. What they fear is what they don’t understand. They’d never take my word for the legitimacy of a spirit trapped in an artefact. I want you to be there when it’s unlocked. I want you to remember every word. The name he utters.”

Hux gets up to his feet. Kylo puts his chin up to look at him, a challenge.

“It’s not a setup,” Hux says. “Don’t think I’d be that transparent. I truly believe he named you as his heir.”

“Of course,” Kylo says, amused. “I want you to remember that.”

*

Ashes fall on the moon of Krayiss Two. It covers the ground like black snow. Hux’s greatcoat billows in the wind as they make their way through an endless plain, their shuttle abandoned in the distance. Kylo follows the murmur of the Force, remembers walking here with Snoke. His absence is yet to be processed, the terminality of his death. He’s been Kylo’s shadow before the day he was born, and now he’s no more.

It shouldn’t be surprising. Kylo keeps shedding his destiny like clothes that don’t fit, the padawan’s robe, the cowl of the apprentice, the teary-eyed mask of Ben Solo, that pathetic boy who refuses to decompose. Killing Snoke was just another step necessary for yet another metamorphosis. This is what he gained: that silence where his Master’s words used to be, clawing at his skull, nibbling on his brain until he couldn’t think for himself, fell to his knees and begged for guidance.

Snoke took him here, and he remembers how eagerly he followed, because it seemed important, because that was the time when he still thought of Snoke’s teachings as a gift, not his birthright and privilege. Because Snoke was telling him about holocrons, how to earn their secrets, and showed him the one in which his soul was locked. Told him what to do with it. Maybe that’s why it feels he’s still following orders, as he walks through the sacred ashes.

Hux’s company is a reassurance. It’s also a gamble. His betrayal is imminent, but his help is indispensable. A mind like that—his former composure—his insight into the Order’s history—the engineer’s brilliance. Hux is too broken to be dangerous, but he must be fixed even if that’s a risk. Kylo needs his fire. He’s always been too cautious not to burn himself, and now he’s left with a handful of embers.

“There’s nothing here,” Hux says, squinting in the white blaze of the sun. The pomade has broken up, and there are stray locks falling to his forehead. Those will have to be combed back. Once the throne is secure, Hux must be made into the symbol of power he was meant to be. A new uniform; a good haircut; wax and shoeshine. He’ll have to look good by Kylo’s side.

“That’s the general impression you want to make when you’re hiding something,” Kylo says. There’s ashes in his hair. That’s different. The grime of battle and pilgrimages. Hux’s nose twitches. It’s not a frown yet, not the frowns Kylo misses, but they’re getting there.

Kylo halts his steps, listens with his eyes closed. The Force is breathing down his neck: _here I am_. He extends his hand, curls his fingers. The ground trembles: Hux cries out as the ragged rock of ancient columns emerge from the earth, following Kylo’s will, called forth by his desire. He has the power to bend the world. His mission shan’t be delayed any further. Not by a scavenger; not by her criminal friends; certainly not by the flimsi-pushers of the Order, who think there are any other _laws_ governing the universe than the will of the Force.

A stone altar emerges. The scarlet pyramid of the holocron sits there, untouched by the dust. It glows and calls out in the ruined temple Kylo summoned from the ground. Ashes rain on the dark columns.

“Have you ever seen anything like this?” Kylo asks, smirking. Hux is silent; stands a few steps back, arms crossed over his hollow chest.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” he says.

“Don’t be afraid,” Kylo tells him, dismissive, approaching the artifact. Its light pulses like a heart.

“Fear is the purest manifestation of survivor instinct,” Hux says. “There’s a reason we program anxiety into our droids.”

“What do you have to dread? It’s the solution to our dilemma.” Kylo picks up the holocron. It’s heavier than expected. Warmer. He hears a hum, distant, like a chant trapped in the stones of the temple.

“If that thing kills you, I won’t be able to save you. Not this time around. I’d be left with your mortal remains and look like a murderer. Is that why you called me here?”

“To stage your coup for you? Please.” Kylo lets go of the holocron; it hovers in the air, between his hands, illuminating the altar, painting it red. Kylo scoffs, amused. What an impressive little device; not something he’d associate with Snoke—he’s grown old, he’s grown soft. He never realised the full potential of his powers. Mopped the floor with his subordinates. Wasted the Knights of Ren. Had Hux do the dirty work of destruction. Old fool. He could’ve benefited from Starkiller. He should’ve absorbed its power, eaten it up like sunmatter.

“I’d strongly advise you to handle this mission with the utmost care,” Hux says, rounds the altar: he’s facing Kylo as he puts his hands on the stone, leans close. “A holocron poses a significant threat to any individual careless enough to underestimate—”

“Don’t lecture me on holocrons; no infidel should,” Kylo says, aiming to irk Hux by sounding bored. Closes his eyes again, and mumbles as he focuses his powers, “I’m touched that you’re so concerned with my well-being, nevertheless”

“Of course,” Hux says. “I’m to guard you.”

Kylo doesn’t sense irony, which is strange. He dismisses it: Hux’s mind has always been impenetrable, a safeguard Kylo assumed Snoke put up. It’s impressive that it still holds strong, the same way Snoke’s death didn’t break the fabricated bond between the girl and him, not until she severed it. This is Snoke’s heritage, these are what survive him: curses to control the living.

The holocron pulses, and the hum of the haunting choir gets louder. There’s a flash, and Kylo strains to hear his Master’s voice again. He’s not prepared to see him; not prepared for the ghost that emerges, flickering-blue like a holo, but more alive than a projection. It registers as conscious energy in the Force as it gets bigger and bigger, looms over the altar, dead eyes rolling in his mangled face watching him and Armitage.

“You,” Snoke’s voice booms, and Kylo feels—small, feels like an idiot, wants to shatter the holocron before Snoke’s ghost, or whatever it is, goes on. He didn’t think about how all this would _feel_ ; he stopped accounting for emotions a while ago, got used to suppressing them and faking whatever was more convenient, to appear weak and humbled. He feels that old teary-eyed expression crawling up to his face, the one Snoke hated. His dead master points a monstrous finger at his chest. “Listen,” he bellows. “I have been murdered!”

Kylo’s blood runs cold. He doesn’t dare to look at Hux. _Fear is the purest manifestation of survivor instinct_ ; damn right it is—and Kylo wants to live. Every time he got up from the ground, the scent of lightning sticking to his flesh, he thought, _I’m hurting now, but I will outlive you._

“Name the murderer!” Hux demands.

“He can’t hear you,” Kylo says. “It’s—” He searches for the words a nonbeliever like Hux could comprehend as this twisted apparition towers over them, the anomaly death created. “Pre-recorded,” Kylo finally mutters, then cranes his neck, dares Snoke to look into his eyes, to _realize—_ to live through that last moment again and again, the disgrace of Kylo’s betrayal.

He could’ve been loyal. He could’ve been obedient. He could’ve, with a strong enough master. He’s been beaten, but he remains untamed. He’s undomesticated. It would’ve taken so little: treats and praising words, the kind Snoke used to make him heel. Then he kicked a dog who was wagging his tail.

“If Kylo Ren lives,” Snoke says, his figure flickering wildly, dispersing into static to then return, horribly clear, “send for him—my heir shall be he.”

Snoke extends his arms: a mockery of an embrace, as if he was capable of _emotion—_ still manipulating him, from beyond the grave, vulnerable like this, ready to accept the life Kylo has to offer, graciously, every single sacrifice he's made. His young heart on a silver plate, torn out from his chest. Han Solo's head. In return, the empty promise of power, dangled in front of his nose for years—and all he had to do was grab it. Grasp his grandfather’s lightsaber with a flick of two fingers. He should’ve let it slice through the both of them, Snoke, the scavenger.

“Should he have fallen,” Snoke says, and his face crumbles as if he would grieve him, as if Kylo’s life would be a loss for him, not collateral damage—as if he cared— _Liar, liar, liar_ , a childish voice in Kylo’s head chants. Ben’s mantra to keep Snoke out. The choir soars and ashes fall. “In the event of Kylo Ren’s absence or death, in the event of his betrayal, do as you are told: unleash the hound.”

He dissipates into electricity as Hux shouts, pale and afraid, “No!”

Lightning lashes out, pushes him off his feet, his coat swirling as he tumbles down the stairs. Kylo flinches in sympathy of the all-to-familiar scene of Hux crying out in pain. _It’s your turn now,_ he used to think. _Next time, it’ll be me._

It shouldn’t be either of them.

It shouldn’t have been set up like that.

He jumps to the altar, reaches out to catch him with the Force, unthinking, out of a long-suppressed instinct. Hux is screaming, mouth wide open, electricity rushing through his body, even sparking on his teeth. He’s frozen in place, hovering just above the ground.

Kylo is not the one holding him.

“General!” he shouts, strains to gain control, but the Force is unstable, it slips away from his grasp as Hux’s tormented body lifts up and up, towards the bright sky, long limbs hanging limply in the swirl of ashes, in the bind of lighting—for a terrifying moment, it seems the lightning comes from _within—_ what is happening, what is _happening—-_

It’s over in a flash. A moment of light, a moment of darkness, the growl of thunder: then Hux falls. The altar shakes as Kylo leaps to catch him: he’s dead weight, pulls Kylo off his feet and they both roll down the sharp stairs, end up tangled on the ground.

“Are you—” Kylo asks as he gets up to his knees, coughs; his lungs are dry. The air smells charred. Hux, lying beneath him, looks unharmed.

“Don’t touch me,” he barks. Something is different about him. Something—

“Let me,” Kylo says, offers him a hand.

“Get off me,” Hux grits, pushes him away. Kylo feels a pressure on his chest, falls back, but Hux hasn’t touched him. He just extended his fingers.

“Stars,” Kylo says, breathless.

He can feel him. _That’s_ what’s different. The vastness of Hux’s consciousness surrounds him like the ruined temple. It’s a presence, and it’s a noise, and—it’s impossible.

*

Kylo hasn’t said a word on the walk back to the shuttle, hardly even looked at Hux as he piloted the Lambda away from the cursed moon, but his thoughts are loud. Hux might be able to hear them.

He’s Force-sensitive, for stars’ sake.

Kylo chances a glance at Hux’s reflection on the viewport, superimposed over the tunnels of hyperspace. He’s sitting with his legs pulled up, wrapped in his greatcoat. His face is vacant but his mind is within reach, calls to Kylo—seeks to connect through the living Force, against Hux’s better judgement, for sure—he can’t seem to control the radiance of his powers. 

Every step now needs to be calculated. Every second, every breath. Kylo took the holocron with them, but he found something far more valuable.

“Will you need to go to the medbay?” he asks casually. He asks this, of all things, to throw Hux off; to imply he cares (which he does, evidently—he’s still not sure why he wanted to catch him; could it have been the Force’s calling?).

“Why? No.”

Hux sounds defensive. That’s good. It’ll make him want to argue. Silence won’t protect his secrets anymore. Kylo hungers to know more. Has to restrain himself from a telepathic attack—Hux would never forgive such violence. Tossing him into a console is nothing compared to mind-reading.

“You’ve been hit by lightning,” Kylo clarifies. Makes sure his face shows no emotion when he can feel Hux’s sullen gaze on him.

“Not the first time, is it?”

“First time it came from inside of you.”

Hux doesn’t reply. Kylo counts the seconds he can tolerate. His own ignorance is maddening. Could it be that Snoke possessed Hux?

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hux says, and it takes Kylo a moment to realize he _heard that,_ he projected.

“It’s a logical assumption,” he says, grip tightening over the control yoke. The wormhole looks like a vortex, pulling them down to the bottom of the ocean. There will be no going back. Now everything has changed. He needs to find his footing again.

“Logical how?”

“You gained powers after he electrocuted you.”

“Do I feel like him?”

“Give me your hand.”

“What? No.”

“Give me your hand,” Kylo insists. Turns to him with his chair while Hux scowls, suspicious.

“What do you want my hand for?”

“I want to know what’s this all about.”

“Then just ask me.”

“For fuck’s sake, General,” Kylo growls, tugs off the glove from his right hand. Hux grabs his wrist to stop him. They lock gazes.

“Ask me,” Hux repeats.

Kylo looks at Hux’s thumb digging into his flesh. He has narrow, elegant hands. A fragile wrist. Bony arms. Kylo could break him in half. He never wanted that. There was never any gain to that. “Why did I never sense your powers?”

“I’d been cut off from the Force,” Hux says, lets go. Kylo’s naked hand falls into his lap.

“Did Snoke do that to you?”

“Of course.”

“Why?”

“Because you came along.” Hux gets up from his seat, walks toward the console Kylo shoved him against. Kylo watches him, a black silhouette thrumming with power. His presence in the Force is insistent, like a migraine.

“Is that why you hate me?” Kylo asks softly. “Because he chose to train me over you?”

“No,” Hux says. Brushes his fingers over the bulk of the console, looks at Kylo. “This is why I hate you.”

Kylo expects the hold around his throat before Hux even lifts his hand, but the violence of it is still a surprise. Hux is _crushing_ his windpipes. There’s so much _hurt_ in his eyes. It was a mistake to assume he was used to abuse.

It was a mistake.

 _You wanted to kill me,_ Kylo thinks. _You pulled a blaster on me. I sensed it. It jolted me awake._

“You’re welcome,” Hux grits, drops his hand. Kylo gasps for air, rubs his neck even though he knows it won’t help. “My desire to kill you brought you back to life.”

“W-whe—” The words won’t come. Kylo squeezes his eyes shut, is shocked to feel the wetness of tears. Getting choked is painful, granted, but crying about it is excessive. He’s the Supreme Leader. He should be beyond tears.

 _We’re even now,_ he thinks.

“Stars, you never shut up,” Hux mutters, walks back to him. Kylo is bent forward in his seat, heaving. Hux cocks his head to the side, scrutinizing him. Steps up to the chair, between his spread knees, and Kylo’s heart skips a beat. Hux smiles at him.

Kicks the seat.

There’s a metallic sound as the Force releases the fastenings keeping it in place. The chair screeches across the floor before it collides with the console. The fall doesn’t really hurt, but it’s humiliating. Kylo hits the ground and the heavy pilot’s chair lands on his side, hitting him so hard it’s guaranteed to bruise.

“Now we’re even,” Hux says. Climbs into his own chair leisurely while Kylo gets up to his knees, gathers his glove. He holds it in his hands, but doesn’t put it back on yet.

He needs answers.

He need to rethink his approach.

*

He’s patching up his side in the ‘fresher of his quarters. He never liked how bacta smelled, sharp and unpleasant. He only registers it as a passing annoyance, too preoccupied by the day’s events. The holocron’s contents can wait: the nomination as Snoke’s rightful heir, as long as his betrayal stays a secret. The greatest mystery is now Hux. In a way, he’s always been. Kylo always wondered, infuriated, why Snoke treated them as equals.

Skywalker, Rey, the Knights of Ren: distractions. It comes down to just the two of them.

It’s poetic, in a way.

He always thought Hux was unworthy of his regard, even his rage. His admiration for him felt foolish, his attraction misguided. Not if it’s just been the pull of the Force, however.

He wishes he could tell that to himself.

He’s fairly certain the Force is not giving him erections. It's a regrettable bodily function. Easily ignored in the mornings, or following certain dreams. Not in Hux’s company.

He’s come into the shameful habit of letting them happen. Enjoy them, in fact, thanks to some degree of pettiness. It felt like revenge for the temptation Hux offered: he’d be rock hard in his pants, and Hux would be clueless. He’d be introducing him to a new ship or superweapon, and Kylo would sit and listen, mask on, legs spread, cock so hard it nearly tented the several layers of his uniform, and Hux never knew. If Kylo had masturbated to the thought of Hux finding out, that was between him and his sonic.

He has a young body. It has cravings. He bedded his male Knights, but found little relief in the process, although the ritualistic values couldn’t be denied. A bonding experience, a powerful release of energy, but useless in his fight against the desire awakened by the tempting softness of Hux’s skin, the promise of his supple lips, his enticing wit, sharp eyes, bright hair and the question whether it was the same color everywhere. Kylo’s spirit is entrapped in human flesh, and Hux has long legs, narrow hips, an ass that could fit into Kylo’s palm _entirely_. He thought about debasing him, but the fantasy was pointless. Hux always laughed at him in his head. He’s certain Hux has a string of lovers who are far more desirable partners than himself. He never looked to find out.

Mitaka was a suspect.

Mitaka is now dead.

Kylo leaves the refresher lost in thought, and feels Hux before he can see him: the energy he emits, biting cold like space, like snow. He’s let himself into Kylo’s featureless antechamber, sitting to stare at Grandfather’s relocated mask. He’s wearing a greatcoat hastily thrown over gray standard issue pajamas.

“I regret to report that I have wrecked my chambers,” he says.

“You usually alert the MSE units when I do that.” Kylo leans against the doorframe, and the movement must catch Hux’s attention, because he glances at Kylo’s chest. His gaze lingers.

Kylo calls a towel to hand. He won’t go through this kind of embarrassment again. Snoke’s unfortunate timing nearly alienated the girl, and inconvenienced him in his private hours. He’s comfortable enough in his skin to often walk around like this, but recognises that the function of his body is to contain his spirit and strength, and nothing else: an unadorned temple.  It should be guarded.

“I have alerted the cleaning droids, yes,” Hux says, belated. Kylo wraps the towel around his neck, lets it hang over his chest as he joins Hux in the antechamber.

“What would you have me do, then?” he asks.

Hux’s gaze drops to his pants. Kylo doesn’t think there’s anything of interest in them.

“It was not my intention to damage the property of the First Order,” Hux says, voice hoarse.

Kylo stays a few feet away from him. It’s important that he doesn’t approach him. Hux is feral. He should come to him on his own terms. There is no point pulling the strings, putting him on a leash. Not now, not like this.

“You need guidance,” Kylo says.

Hux blinks, looks away. “It would seem so,” he admits.

“It’s okay. We all do. I will give you something better.” Kylo takes a step forward. Hux’s head shoots up. He stops. “I’ll give you a choice,” he clarifies. 

“What do I get to choose?”

“If you wish to be my apprentice, come back tomorrow. Come prepared. Think it over. I’ll be waiting for you after my shift.”

Hux is silent for a while. It’s a gracious offer: Hux likely doesn’t understand the gravity of it. His entitlement always made him ungrateful. Kylo doesn’t know what will he do if he refuses. He can’t afford to lose him.

“I will be there,” Hux says. After a moment: “I don’t want to go back.”

Oh. Well. That’s...different.

“You may stay a while,” Kylo allows. The tone was the wrong choice: Hux shakes his head. It doesn’t matter. The objective is not to get him to agree to anything. That’s the first lesson down the path of true Dark: freedom. “I could also reassign you to a new room until your quarters are fixed.”

“It would just happen again,” Hux says, but Kylo registers an emotion—he’s _touched_. Poor bastard. The reassignment isn’t even a kindness, just standard procedure. “I might need...supervision until I am—in full control of my abilities.”

“You want to stay the night,” Kylo says.

“It’s merely a temporary solution.”

“You want me to watch over you.”

“Well, if you have to put it like that.”

“You said something about guarding _me_.” 

Hux scowls. He’s beginning to have—expressions, again. “That’s my function,” he says. “That’s why I keep rescuing you.”

Something clenches in Kylo’s chest.

“And here I thought you liked me,” he jokes. It falls flat because Hux’s face gets an odd shade of pink, and Kylo can feel his thoughts withdrawing.

Kylo weighs his options, then sits down on the ground. There: now he looks unassuming. Not looming over anybody.

“When did you first realize you had the Force?” he asks to change the topic. It’s a standard question.

Hux’s answer is odd. “I always knew.”

“Huh.” Kylo frowns. “I was around...four. I’ve been using it, of course, but I thought everybody could. I didn’t think of it as something—special. Not until a zabrak girl called me a freak on the playground.” 

“Uh-huh,” Hux says. It dawns on Kylo Hux has no idea what playgrounds are. “I think the difference between our training is that they made very clear what my function was to be. My Father used to call it my _potential_.”

That’s strange. “He knew it before you did?”

Hux meets his eyes. He looks tired. The circles under his eyes are now purple, and his skin is ashen-pale. “Ren,” he says. “I’ve been genetically engineered.”

The way he sits there, hunched over in his pajamas, he looks like a failed experiment.

“I’m not following,” Kylo says, as softly as he can manage.

“They injected midichlorians into my bloodstream,” Hux explains. “I was designed to be Force-sensitive.  My powers have always been volatile, because they’re artificial.”

_Fuck._

“They don’t feel—” Kylo tries, cuts off himself. Of course they do. Of course they don’t make sense. Of course Hux’s body is fighting against his powers—of course they drain him, and the Force itself is struggling against him, trying to reject him. Hux is a parasite of greatness, illegitimate, and it is—not fair. He deserves this gift more than the scavenger, who refuses the potential of the Darkness.

“Snoke always told me it’s like teaching a weasel to fly.”

“Maybe you’re not a weasel. Maybe you’re a firefly.”

“My father made me like this on Snoke’s orders. He made a weasel. But that was all the Order had, back then. Me.” Hux shrugs his bony shoulders. What a waste. What a karking waste. The Force should’ve chosen him. Kylo would, if it was up to him. He shouldn’t be forced to rely on a traitorous little girl and children who followed him only because they were scared. Hux deserves the privilege of power, and Kylo deserves an apprentice like him.

“You can stay,” he says, confirming it again. _Can I trust you_ , he wonders. Is it wise to let a rabid cur in, give him pets and training? Keeping him close has worked so far—and punishing him has not.

“I just want this day to be over,” Hux says, and his voice breaks as he adds, “I just want to sleep.”

“I’d advise you to do just that.” Kylo gets to his feet. Addressing Hux’s vulnerability would be catastrophic. Kylo can feel the thrumming of his mounting panic, his shame: he hates not being perfectly efficient at something.

Kylo leads the way to the bedroom, not checking if Hux follows. It’s similar to his chambers on the Supremacy, just as bland and practical: low grey walls, clean floors, a narrow bed. He prefers Hux’s quarters; complimented his taste on interior design more than once, in fact, but there’s no point decorating his own quarters. He’s not foolish enough to think of it as _home_. Home is a thing you have to give up, or lose.

“Where will _you_ sleep?” Hux asks, and he’s standing closer than Kylo realised. It would be a mistake to face  him.

“It’s my turn to run on stims and caffeine.”

“Ah.” Hux doesn’t question it. Marches to the bed as if he had strict orders to fall asleep promptly. Maybe in his mind, he does.

“I’ll just be through the door,” Kylo says, fleeing to his office before he can watch Hux crawl between his sheets. He’s envisioned it on a number of occasions, but always in a different context. He dresses himself as a reminder not to get ideas, gets his datapad—it’s blowing up with messages. Good. Something to take his mind off the open door with a perfect view of the bed, that spot of bright orange before Hux mumbles, “Lights to five percent.”

Darkness. Then, a whisper, “Thank you, Ren.”

*

Hux makes noises in his sleep. They’re faintly erotic, but everything about Hux is. Kylo feels tricked, but knows he only has himself to blame. His eyes are burning, his legs are falling asleep, but he’s given up his resting place for a greater purpose. What else was he supposed to do? Hux needs to sleep on his offer to make an informed decision, and he really couldn’t be left alone—not with the Force, but with his mind. He’s eating himself up. Eating himself alive.

The characters of a report on the food supply and a recent, rapid expiration of resources blur before Kylo’s eyes. He blinks a few times, looks up, and his blood freezes up.

Snoke is standing by the end of the bed, lean and grotesquely tall, in his golden robe, looming over Hux. Two of his skeletal fingers are pressed to Hux’s forehead. Tapping. Tapping. Tapping.

Kylo calls his lightsaber to hand, snarls and grunts as he leaps over his desk. Snoke is gone before he lands.

He could’ve imagined it. He could’ve—

“Hell,” he whispers, clutches the saber’s hilt and struts through the shadowy bedroom. He stops to check on Hux, just a gentle nudge with the Force—he’s dreaming of rain. Kylo lets him be, heart hammering, mouth dry. He feels like he’s going to throw up. Gets to the fresher, to the duffel bag he abandoned by the laundry chute. Clasps the saber to his belt, kneels and undoes the zipper.

The holocron is there. It’s locked.

Kylo can’t bring himself to touch it, not even with the Force. He gets down to his elbows and leans close to inspect it better.

It had to be exhaustion, surely.

He’s been plagued by nightmares of old masters by bedside. Hux, however, shouldn’t be infected by his miasma. Kylo would even tell him the truth about that night with Skywalker; what exactly he discovered, what plans had lurked in Ben’s head. He was frightened when Skywalker ignited his lightsaber, because deep down, he knew he deserved to be executed.

He’s not scared of judgement anymore.

He’ll—

_—never be as strong as Darth Vader—_

_—a fool and a coward—_

_—have too much of your father’s heart—_

—just forget about it.

_(I have given you everything. He’s not yours for the taking. He’s the first thing I get to keep.)_

*

Hux is peaceful in his sleep. It’s getting late, but Kylo can’t find it in himself to wake him up. Stands where the nightmare stood, dressed for the bridge in his cape, incapable to do more than send alertness through the Force, but the Force in Hux responds: he sinks deeper into dreams, out of Kylo’s reach.

“So be it,” Kylo mutters. Gets his datapad, squints at the screen (his eyes are killing him) and clears Hux’s schedule for the day. Hux will hate him for the courtesy, so he adds in _remote research: quark fusion blaster_ to let him tinker with his recent passion project.

Darth Vader was a tinkerer as well. Could the Force be an element in this? Something to consider later—to think through everything he knows of Hux, look at it through the lens of new knowledge, to get to know him, again, after five years.

What a gift.

The first time they met was disastrous, and set the tone for their strained working relationship. Hux kept asking him about himself, back when Kylo had no idea about who Kylo Ren was supposed to be, so he brushed off any inquiries, along with the invitation for a drink. He regretted it enough that the next day he told Hux he was too young to be a general. It didn’t register as a compliment. Maybe calling him doll-faced added insult to the injury, but it accurately described Kylo’s first impression. Hux looked like the porcelain dolls of his grandmother, too precious to be touched.

He allows himself the feeble pleasure of tucking him in. Once upon a time, he enjoyed taking care of things. He would’ve entertained the thought of seducing Hux by spoiling him. He’d have been so easy to please. Denying him the little attention he’s been craving through all this years had been a cruelty, but it’s also been necessary.

Until now, maybe. Hux asked to be looked after. It was his explicit wish.

* 

The bridge is busy, but Kylo keeps a livestream open to the security footage of his quarters. Watching Hux sleep is definitely reassuring; so is the lack of any further ghosts. He loses the moment Hux wakes up to a check-in with engineering, but sees him next drinking tea in bed, scrolling through his datapad. It’s comforting to have Hux with him, in a way. The Finalizer’s hustling command bridge looks empty without him. Kylo decided long ago he wouldn’t rule from a remote throne room, that a good leader (like Vader) is hands-on, but feels somewhat at a loss without Hux.

His position as Supreme Leader will be uncertain until he reveals the holocron’s relevant contents. His ideas are rarely contested, not even in the privacy of his soldier’s thoughts, but military lingo escapes him, often making his orders baffling. He knows little of standard procedures or traditions, and is too impatient to catch up on them. The Resistance has stolen away; the battle of Crait was humiliating. They desperately need to save face, strengthen their fleet, exploit the Republic’s vulnerability. Kylo thought it’d be enough to let his new victories speak for his abilities, but his officers remain unconvinced, and the unrest threatens an uprising.

Without Hux, the tension in the air is palpable. Their unity is of paramount importance. He closes the stream out of courtesy when Hux heads to the refresher, but he’s resolved to use the recent discovery of Hux’s abilities to strengthen their relationship. Controlling him would be a waste. Snoke was right in one thing: it’s time to unleash him.

When he opens the stream again, his bed is made, the refresher’s door is open, and the quarters are empty.

*

Kylo leaves his shift overwrought and empty, ready to collapse after masturbating. Fifteen minutes of self-stimulation should do the trick. He suspects dissatisfaction is largely responsible for his current emotional state, since there is no other reason to feel this hollow and disappointed. If Hux decided not to accept him as Master, that’s a decision he’s bound to respect. There are no alternatives: he shouldn’t and couldn’t _make_ him follow his lead. There’d be no benefit. 

He thinks of his pillowcase as he punches in the security code. If Hux neglected to change it, he could bury his face in it while he touched himself. Inhaling Hux’s scent during orgasm might just be the placebo his possessiveness needs. On the other hand, one of the things he admires about Hux is his neatness. Kylo is prone to abandon a certain level of hygiene when he’s preoccupied by greater concerns, but Hux wouldn’t be caught dead in an unironed uniform. He always smells of a mild aftershave, standard detergent and soap, a surprisingly spicy hair product. Kylo wouldn’t be surprised if he washed the pillowcase _himself_ , and somehow, it’s that idea that gets him semi-hard, Hux in the laundry hall among droids, how _clean_ and diligent he is, the only reliable person in the entire First Order. 

He palms himself as soon as he gets into the bedroom, squeezing his swelling dick through his pants, can’t wait to shed his clothes—and it’s been a while since he’s been excited about such a mundane thing, since he found pleasure in the prospect of a climax, not just the promise of much-needed stress-relief.

His hand drops when he senses he’s not alone. His first thought is the ghost: Snoke coming to taunt him for his weakness, for his failure to keep celibate—telling him that a pretty boy would be enough to break him, someone to warm his cock, and the mighty Kylo Ren is no more, he could be wrapped around the fingers of some canny twink, and the only reason he _isn’t_ is because no sane man would want him.

He stands still, ready for the abuse, but the Force hums, and it’s a frequency he doesn’t recognise, not at first, until he turns and remembers.

Hux is sitting on his bed, his back straight, pose relaxed. He hardly looks like himself. He’s wearing leather, with an intricate web of straps, and a cape; he’s holding a lightsaber’s hilt; his hair is loose, freshly washed; he has a muzzle, a leather muzzle instead of a mask. He looks like one of Kylo’s Knights. He looks _his_.

Hux notices him and stands up swiftly, cape rippling. “Master Ren,” he greets.

Kylo keeps his hands at his side, painfully hard now.

“Apprentice Hux,” he says. “Thank you for coming.”

Hux might’ve practiced his line, but Kylo’s answer takes him by surprise. He shifts on his feet, fingers curling around the saber’s hilt. Kylo needs to banish lewd thoughts instantly. The shape and girth of that saber doesn’t matter, nor is it of any significance how good Hux’s long fingers look around it: he came for guidance, and Kylo’s task is to aid him. First, his anxiety needs to be eased: Kylo can practically taste it.

“I see you have a uniform,” he says, soft and low. “Good choice. It represents your position.”

“Thank you,” Hux says, and after a moment of hesitation adds, “sir.”

That’s a new turn. He’s never addressed Kylo like that in his whole life. He drops the R, his accent making the little word more of a sigh—but enough.

“Walk closer for inspection,” Kylo says. Hux approaches him like a professional, and he responds in kind: he walks around Hux with hands clasped behind his back, however easy it would be to paw him—maybe even welcomed. There’s a strange energy coming from Hux, a feverish heat Kylo cannot quite place, but he can hear the echo of that _sir_ in Hux’s mind, and a desire to get to his knees in greeting, which is quickly suppressed by Hux’s discipline. “How long have you had the uniform?”

“Since I was twenty-two, sir.”

“Did you make it yourself?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And the lightsaber?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Show me.”

It sounds more eager than he intended. He’s standing behind Hux, and expects him to ignite the saber, but Hux just holds it out. Kylo needs to step close to reach it, prays that Hux doesn’t feel the brush of his erection as he pushes the button himself. The hilt spits out vermillion plasma. Kylo makes a noise of impressed surprise. The kyber hasn’t been bled properly, but it’s stable.

“Have you been trained how to use it?”

“My training was focused on it in fact, sir.”

“Let me see your footwork.”

He pulls back and takes his place on the bed—there’s nowhere else to sit, and he wants to give Hux space. He looks uncertain and defiant at once, hair falling into his eyes around the muzzle. What a curious attire: Hux was clearly inspired by old Sith designs when he made the uniform, but the muzzle represent a humility Kylo wouldn’t associate with him—unless the muzzle’s restraint is something he strives to overcome.

Hux unclasps his heavy cape before getting into position. It falls to the ground, and Kylo nearly hisses out loud. He’s been painfully aware of the cuteness of Hux’s ass: he didn’t need a reminder, but the leather is taut over the round buttocks.

“Face me,” he rasps out. Entertains a scenario where it wouldn’t ruin everything if he resumed palming himself, slid a hand down the front of his pants and stroked his cock to fullness watching Hux fight for him, nimble and lithe, unstoppable.

Hux frowns in concentration as he stands on guard, light on his feet and well-balanced. He makes the first cut with a soft cry, the blade humming in reply. He moves with grace, and it takes Kylo every ounce of willpower not to linger on how his nimble body arches, the cocky way he puts up his chin. The bedroom is filled with his presence, the light of his saber reflecting back from the floor, the ceiling, and as he jumps and twists, red rays glow on the shiny leather. His ripostes are good, but his grapple needs work. He dances, instead of throwing himself into the movement; his swing is too wide, and the reverse grip he attempts nearly fails. The saber hums through the air, one with its handler—but it could just as well be a lance or a probe, because Hux isn’t relying on the Force. 

“Do you feel it?” Kylo asks him. “Surging through your body, radiating past it—you don’t have to move the Force, it’s already moving. Close your eyes. Breathe. Flow with it.” 

He’s worried Hux’s practical mind will find the instructions vague, but Hux closes his eyes. There: that’s trust. That’s what he needs to submit to the Force. His own power overwhelms him: Kylo can feel it burning, bright like a sun, lashing out—eating up the core.

“Find your focus,” he says. 

“How, sir?”

“I’m here. Focus on me.”

Kylo closes his eyes to amplify his Force-presence. He hears the crackle of the blade, the soft steps of Hux’s feet, the rustle of fabric. It should be easier like this: easier to find him, when he’s not distracted by desire, but Kylo feels himself as if he was sitting at a distance, an observer, when Hux would need someone to stand by his side, anchor his spirit. There’s a clash, a yelp, and Kylo opens his eyes just in time to see electricity running through Hux’s body—lightning sparks at his fingertips, in his eyes, across his chest. He extinguishes the lightsaber. Looks shaken.

“Well,” he says. “That’s that.”

“It’s not an easy exercise,” Kylo says. The air smells like thunder. Just like in the temple, Hux doesn’t seem affected, but he’s breathing hard, and his pupils are blown wide. “There’s certainly plenty to work with; well done, General.”

“All this power,” Hux says, takes a heaving breath. He composes himself; Kylo can feel anger, determination to do better, and something else, a yearning. “All this power, and I can’t even control it without—overheating, whatever it is, the lightning.”

“You will learn to control it,” Kylo assures him. Tells him everything he needed to hear when he was in Hux’s place. Promises that might not be kept, but which are all the sweeter for that.

“Can’t you control it for me, sir?” Hux blurts out. He’s holding onto the lightsaber’s hilt, and his shoulders are dropping. He needs stability. He needs it right away, and he can’t find it within.

It hurts to admit, but Kylo says, “The Force doesn’t work like that.”

“I was hoping you could—show me, sir,” Hux says, takes a wobbly step forward. Two steps, another: he nearly collapses when he reaches the bed, gets to his knees in front of it.

“I can show you whatever you want to see,” Kylo promises. Scoots over, but Hux doesn’t take the seat next to him. His mind is burning like lightning, bright, blinding. “We’re here to discuss your training. You do get to have a say in how we approach it. I can sense you have a question.”

Hux blinks, taken off-guard. The muzzle makes his pale lashes stand out as he looks down.

“I used to be better, sir,” he says. “I was distracted.”

“It’s all right. I was distracted as well. It’s been a while, for the both of us.”

The little nothings come easily. A lifetime ago, he knew comfort. It seems to embolden Hux. He licks his lips, peers up at Kylo—makes a decision.

“I was wondering if you wanted me to take care of that, sir,” he says.

“Take care of what?”

“Take care of you, sir.” Hux closes his eyes, leans forward, and rubs the tip of the muzzle over Kylo’s crotch.

The friction is delicious. Kylo’s brain shortcircuits.

“General Hux,” he says in warning. Gets a fistful of his hair to pull him back, searching his eyes for—whatever could be his motivation, revenge, a prank, his way of scolding Kylo for being a pervert, for using their sacred pact to dwell on desires.

“Tell me if I misunderstood something, Ren,” Hux says. His voice is slightly changed.

“I think you did,” Kylo tells him flatly.

“Allow me,” Hux says, stern but apologetic, reaches for the muzzle. The energy in the room is shifting: Kylo feels painfully aware of himself, sitting on the edge of the bed, his confidence broken by the threat that he made a mistake without even realizing it, a fatal mistake that cannot be amended. Such failure would be intolerable. Such failure, just when he had the opportunity to utilize his abilities to the fullest, to pass on his knowledge and heritage, but somehow it ended with—

(Hux touched his dick. There’s a significant part of him that’s thrilled about it and will certainly cherish the memory. Right now, he can’t afford to slip.)

Hux sits down to the bed at a respectful distance of him, holding the muzzle in hand. It left a small, adorable bruise on his nose. He must’ve pulled it too tight. If Kylo was the one who put it on him, he would’ve been careful with it. Double-checked every strap was just tight enough to slip a finger underneath them.

“I apologize for upsetting you, and if anything I did was unwelcome or inappropriate,” Hux says.

Kylo’s mind lingers on the image of slipping his finger underneath the straps of Hux’s muzzle. Hux’s head bent in submission. Hux on his knees in front of him.

“No apology is necessary,” Kylo says. “You want power, you want sex. I can understand that.”

“I can live without the sex part.” Hux gives a parting gaze to Ren’s crotch. He’s lost his erection.

“I meant what I said,” he says, strained. “I could look after you. If that’s what you wanted, I would be—amenable.”

“It helps me focus,” Hux says. “Authoritative men telling me what to do. Handsome ones. Sturdy.”

“I’m not your first Master, then?” Kylo asks, playful, despite himself, despite how furious he’s at himself, how disappointed he didn’t catch up in time, to let all signs slide. He just missed the opportunity to get something he’s been craving, but there’s no time for rage or despair. Not when Hux is right here, not when every fiber of his being is pulled towards him.

“I’m sorry, Ren,” Hux says, “you’re just not that special.”

Their eyes meet. Kylo gives him a sad smile. Their lips collide.

Kylo has no idea who initiated the kiss, but he’s kissing Armitage Hux, and he can let all that matters be that for a moment, then a moment longer. His lips are just as soft as they always looked; his tongue wicked, his teeth sharp. Kylo is licking into his mouth, eating up his heat, his sighs, and can’t decide if he wants to pull his hair again or grab his hip, so he does both, pulls Hux deep, pulls Hux close. The Force around them surges, pours over, darkness melting into darkness. It’s like slipping into black-black waters, the torturous moonlight of Kylo’s past faint and distant. He pushes Hux down to the mattress, climbs atop him—is stopped by Hux’s hand on his chest.

“I won’t sleep with you,” Hux says, eyes wild and mouth kissed red.

“Oh?”

“I won’t. No-no, don’t go, it’s okay.”

“I’m not the only one sending mixed signals, huh,” Ren grunts. He sits back on his heels, but he’s still straddling Hux’s hips. His thigh is nearly as wide as Hux’s entire torso. He’d look glorious on his cock, bent in half, split apart.

“I don’t want to have sex with you in the way couples do,” Hux explains, “because I don’t want to be in a relationship with you, even if said relationship is just defined as a casual fling with no strings attached. I want sex between us to be strictly professional.”

Kylo looks him over, the way his tousled bright hair is contrasting the black pillowcase, the exquisite arch of his blushing neck (his throat offered), the quick rise and fall of his chest.

“You _do_ want me to fuck you.”

“Merely as part of my training. I found it—helpful, to go into that mindspace just now. Submit to you. Would you be comfortable with dominating me?”

“I could guide you. I could use sex as—reward, or part of the lessons, yeah. Unorthodox, but it can be done. If that’s what you want.”

“I want regular training too,” Hux clarifies, getting up to his elbows. Greedy as ever; an ambitious career officer who won’t settle for any compromise of power, always aiming higher. Kylo recognises that hunger in his eyes: it’s the same look he often has on his own scarred face, nowadays. “Your suggestion to find my focus in the moving Force through you has been useful; I promise I’ll practice and report back.”

“When?”

Hux smiles at that. Kylo showed his hand with his impatience. Maybe that’s just fine; if they’re to do this, he must trust Hux. To a certain degree. Within the boundaries of logic.

“As soon as I can,” Hux says, voice strategically dropped low. He doesn’t bat his lashes, but they’re drooping. He looks good enough to eat. Kylo could offer him that: eat his ass to seal the deal. He’s never done it. Always wanted to. He’d bite Hux’s ass like a peach.

“Good boy,” he says instead, and it has pretty much the same effect: Hux squirms and melts. Kylo bets he wants his little hole stuffed now, now that the basics have been negotiated, now that he can feel in control. Kylo withdraws. If they follow every whim, there’ll be no hope for professionalism. They need structure and discipline, and Kylo’s self-restraint must be exemplary.

When he gets out of bed, Hux follows suit, gathers the muzzle but doesn’t put it back on. Waits for further instructions in parade rest, a confident smile on his lips. He radiates a victorious bliss.

“Dismissed,” Kylo says, tone neutral, calculated. A strategy is already forming: to send Hux away when he’s sated, but still has unfulfilled desires. As for himself—well. He still has a functioning right hand.

Hux salutes. Kylo’s already gotten more than he could ever hope for. He shouldn’t get too eager. However, they do need to make a fair bargain. He waits until Hux is in the antechamber, and calls after him, “Be advised that I have thought about it, previously. Outside of a professional framework. Thought about fucking you so hard you’d be limping through the bridge.”

Hux stills. Looks at him, stunned. “I—”

“Yes. You didn’t know that. Goodbye.”

*

Hux has the gall to send him a contract proposal when they’re both on the bridge. Kylo scrolls though it, then peers at Hux from over his datapad. Hux is in the crew pit with engineering. Greatcoat, command cap, everything. The shadows under his eyes are a bluish-gray now. That’s an improvement.

Kylo looks at the attached file again. Hux sent it through a private channel. It’s incredibly detailed. Unamo is telling him about a glitch in the sensor readings of several Resurgent-class ships through comm, but he can’t comprehend a word of it.

“Dispatch sensor technicians Zatoq and Bolban,” is all he can manage as he types out an answer.

 **_Supreme Leader Ren_ ** _: I am to be your service top, I see._

Hux is scoffing at a joke an engineer made (he never shows teeth—always bites down his smiles—it’s something that has been plaguing Kylo for a while, the idea to make him laugh, just once). He checks his datapad casually, keeps chatting as he’s typing, about quark stars and color superconductivity, the latter’s weaponizability. His eyes are manic. Kylo can feel his thrill through the Force, the possibility to utilize a matter that could infect everything it comes in contact with. Strange matter, he calls it.

 **_A.H._ ** _This is just a first draft, focusing on my personal preferences. As I have indicated, you can always negotiate your role however you see fit._

Strange matter, Kylo thinks. Infecting him already, this fever he’s been cooling all these years. How could he say no to the service of this cunning creature?

 **_Supreme Leader Ren_ ** _: I know. I wasn’t complaining. Sending my modifications asap. Only a few necessary, I think._

 **_Supreme Leader Ren_ ** _: Busy tonight+tomorrow, but after. Officer’s lounge, 2300. Be there. I’ll make sure we’re not disturbed. You can show me what you’ve been practicing. Show me how good you are at it._

He marches through the command walkway, stops by the crew pit just as Hux finishes reading; just as he looks up, eyes dark. His gaze drags through Kylo’s heavy boots, tight pants, lingers just below the belt. The engineers salute him with quick _sir_ s; Hux’s greeting is somewhat belated, made meaningful as they lock gazes.

“As you were,” Kylo says. Hux schools his features, hiding the smile Kylo longs to see, turns away. Something catches Kylo’s attention: a reflection on one of the consoles, a white, twisted face gawking at Hux, grinning. It’s gone in a blink.

Kylo will be busy, but he definitely needs more sleep. Who knows? Maybe his bed won’t be cold and empty for long.

* 

The officer’s lounge is a short walk away from systems control, at the stern of the ship. It has a spectacular view of space, comfortable leather sofas, a bar with a service droid, a selection of cigarras. A show of the Order’s wealth, something to keep the officers motivated. Kylo has always viewed it as a place of intemperance: phony officers like Peavey or Canady would sit there for hours, gab about their glory days, while professionals like Hux would toil away.

Hux deserves to unwind. Deserves to take the imposter’s place, to have the beauty of the room all for his pleasure. Kylo looks around when he enters, withholding his excitement to spot Hux’s lone figure. The lounge is pleasantly eerie without the usual crowd, in the soft blue glow of night lights, blinking like the cluster of stars in the background. Hux is waiting for him on his knees by the bar. The dark leather creaks softly as he shifts, acknowledging Kylo’s presence with a bow of his head.

“Master Ren,” he says.

Kylo takes in the moment: to have all this time, and this place to indulge Hux, to bestow him with the riches of the Dark Side, train him to be formidable, his powers finally utilized. Hux’s Force-presence betrays anticipation, and conveys a kind of calm Kylo never sensed on Hux before.

“What a lovely greeting,” he says as he walks closer, steps measured. He stops in front of Hux, mimicking his usual parade rest as he looks him over. The muzzle draws shadows across Hux’s pale face. “I’ve been eagerly waiting your report, General Hux. I trust you’ve been practicing.”

“I’ve done as I was told, sir,” Hux says. Kylo can sense he’s proud of himself; that must be encouraged.

“Pride in your work is essential,” he tells him, voice low and soothing. “I’m glad to see you took pleasure in your accomplishments.”

Hux shifts on his knees again. He’s hard in his pants; waiting alone in the dark must’ve perked his desire.

“Don’t you think it’s arrogant of me, sir?” Hux asks.

“Absolutely not. You might’ve been scolded for it before, but I see no reason to punish you for your hard-earned success. Tell me about your progess.” He peers around. There’s a caf table just behind him; he settles down on it, legs deliberately spread. The posture is a fine balance between the casual amity that seems to put Hux at ease, and the symbol of leadership he craves.

“At first I struggled with the instructions, sir,” Hux tells him diligently. “I was concerned my powers would lash out again, but I have realized that suppressing them is the real risk.”

“An acute observation. Well done.”

Hux bites his lips at the praise. As much as he appreciates compliments, he doesn’t quite know how to take them, not yet. Exposure might be the answer to that: let him get used to such treatment.

“It helped,” Hux says, “that I knew you’d be disappointed if I wrecked my quarters again, sir. I didn’t want to cause you dissatisfaction.”

“I would’ve been very disappointed,” Kylo confirms, gently, gently, a sing-song lull. “I trusted you to control yourself for my sake. I’m pleased to see you are as disciplined as I expected you to be.”

“Thank you, sir,” Hux says.  He has that feverish energy again, like back in Kylo’s quarters: ready to be rewarded, willing to do anything for a prize or praise.

“You’ve been so good for me,” Kylo says, extends a leg leisurely. Presses the heel of his boot to Hux’s crotch. Hux’s breath catches, his hips cant forward. The shiny leather is taut over his bulge. “You want to rub off on my boot a little? Take the edge off the pressure before we proceed?”

“With your permission, sir.”

“Ah, but are my boots clean enough?”

They are. Kylo has cleaned them himself. He feels a rush of eminence as Hux inspects them nevertheless, follows his directions to the letter.

“I’m afraid a bit dusty, sir.”

“That won’t do, will it, General Hux? Clean them at once.”

Hux reaches for the clasp of his muzzle, pulls it off with trembling hands. He leaves it hanging around his neck, a symbol of his submission as he flicks his pink tongue out, laps at the toe of Kylo’s boot. He keeps his hands behind his back, crossed over each other. Someone trained him well. Kylo feels jealous of that man, all of them, who had Hux before he had him all for himself; but none of them could connect to him the way they are linked, Hux’s Force-energy lavish with yearning. His mind is tranquil, wordless thoughts drifting as he laps Kylo’s boots clean, one and the other, translucent lashes trembling with each little moan. His energy flares up when Kylo steps on his cock again.

“Take your pleasure,” he says. Hux gasps, kneels up to rub himself over the leather shaft. An anxious urgency: as if he is afraid it’ll be denied of him, so he has to grab onto every opportunity he’s allowed have, as long as it lasts. “Easy,” Kylo shushes him, cradles his face to pull the muzzle back onto him. Hux breathes heavily, but the shift in his energy is almost immediate: his pressing need dissipates under Kylo’s gloved fingertips. “Yes, that’s good. Take your time with it. Tell me about your practice.”

Kylo pulls his hands back, rests them on the table. The position allows him to push his chest  out, because he picked up on a curious kind of fixation on Hux’s part. He loves his men strong, he loves them large. He’s humping Kylo’s leg, hands clasped behind his back, and he’s focusing on his pectorals, projecting the privilege to fuck them one day, a new goal to motivate him.

“I tried to attune myself to the Force’s movements, sir,” he says. “I discovered it helps if I think of it as sex.”

“It does?” Kylo asks, a bit shocked. What a curious little man. The roll of his hips is exquisite, but Kylo can’t feel anything through the leather besides pressure. Tonight is not about him, but he keeps wondering about how Hux’s cock might look and feel like, how it tastes—and cannot quite get used to the idea that it’s within his power to find out.

“If I submit to it,” Hux says, “like I submit to you, sir, follow its—rhythm—”

“So you lie back and let it claim you, huh?” Kylo asks. He won’t be jealous of the powers governing the universe. He won’t be.

“Exactly,” Hux pants, rides Kylo’s leg a little harder. It excites him, his lewd little discovery. The Force is terrifying to him, foreign; sex is something he knows better—something he does well. “When I give up control, it can penetrate me, sir. It fills me up so well. I can feel it everywhere.”

 _Cheeky little fucker_. Kylo grunts, takes in the mischievous glint in Hux’s eyes. “Oh, come off it,” he says softly. Lifts his leg without warning, making Hux cry out. “We both know that’s not like you. You wouldn’t let the Force just fuck you like some bored husband fucks his spouse. That’s not how you fuck. How do you fuck, Armitage?” 

Hux’s mouth falls open behind the muzzle, but he can’t say anything. Surges forward to grab the caf table’s edge, support himself as Kylo keeps his leg lifted. Hux bears down hurder, grinding his cock over his boots, hips swaying beautifully, his little ass flexing. Now his entire body is engaged, his whole being, all focused on the single point of friction, the rub of leather over his straining cock. His head is hanging low between his shoulders, he whines with pleasure—and he hardly ever felt more powerful. His presence in the Force grows, overtaking the room: bottles and cigarra cases start levitating, he sends the sofas soaring.

“You’re getting the hang of it,” Kylo tells him. Puts a hand over his head, ruffles his soft hair. Hux stills, obedient, waiting for further orders as his thighs tremble. “Do you feel the difference?”

“I feel it, sir.”

“You’re not the Force’s bitch. You’re not anybody’s. Only the strong can submit. You know it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Show the Force the power of your devotion. Show me.” He pulls his leg back, offers his palm instead: Hux takes his gloved hand, panting heavily, pretty face flushed. He’s too close to the edge: he needs to find his footing before he falls. Kylo leads him through the room, as if he’d lead him to a grand dance. Objects are still floating around them: Hux is too anxious to put them back, afraid his control might have slipped. Kylo makes him face the viewport, stands behind him and puts a hand over his belly. “Are you ready for your next lesson?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Breathe into your stomach.”

Hux follows the direction. Kylo feels his breathing calm under his palm, pulls him a little closer so Hux can feel his erection. His cock is pressed between Hux’s cheeks, hot and heavy, the sign that Kylo is impressed with him.

“Feeling alright?” 

“I nearly came,” Hux says. Swallows, tries to compose himself while Kylo holds him. Kylo waits it out: Hux must learn how to pull back from such heights on his own. His skin smells electric. Kylo nuzzles his neck, rests his chin on his shoulder. His cape covers the both of them.

“You will put those bottles back one by one, to their rightful places,” Kylo says. “The napkins and the cigarras as well.”

“I don’t really know where to start, sir,” Hux admits.

“Start here.” Kylo squeezes his belly. “Keep breathing. Look ahead. How bright are the stars tonight. What’s between them?”

“Darkness,” Hux says. He _understands_.  

“Call on the dark,” Kylo tells him. “Let it hold you. Let it be the conductor of your power.”

Hux arches his eyebrows.

“I appreciate the scientific allegory, sir.”

“I know you do.” Kylo squeezes his twitching belly again. Hux is so soft, so precious. He smells so good. “I’ll finger you open. Would that be helpful in channeling your abilities?”

Hux gulps audibly. “Very helpful, sir.”

“Undress. Leave the muzzle on.” 

Kylo withdraws, however it pains him to put even a little distance between them. His head is swimming; a change in his state of mind was expected, but the fluency of his consciousness surprises him. He’s drifting, but his responsibility to anchor Hux grounds him. It almost resembles a meditative state, but he’s not slipping under. He’s present in his body in a way he doesn’t remember ever experiencing, from the root of his hair to his keenly curled toes, and the centre of it all, his full, hard cock. 

He doesn’t shed a single item of clothing as Hux peels off the leather jumpsuit, bares his space-pale back, his delicious, round buttocks. Is this sacrilege? How could it be, when Hux is so divinely beautiful? He takes the time to fold his clothes, which allows Kylo a glimpse of his cock jotting forward, flushed pink in its ginger nest.

The hair between Hux’s legs is ginger.

Kylo closes his eyes and mutters a silent prayer of gratitude. His uncut cock is also adorable. It didn’t have to be. There was no need for Hux to look exactly how Kylo’s pictured him naked, but the fact that he does is almost like a prophecy fulfilled.

Hux takes his position in front of him, palms pressed to the viewport. The foresight to balance himself stings, a little, the idea that someone else might’ve done this to him, but it just makes Kylo tug off his gloves all the more eagerly.

“Eyes forward,” he says. “Face the darkness.”

“Yes, sir.”

Kylo gets a pack of lube, tears it open with his teeth. He keeps his gaze on the back of Hux’s neck, but it’s not helping. He wants to bite his nape. Wants to pull on the straps of the muzzle. He could do that. He could do anything he pleases, as long as it’s within the terms of their agreement, it’s fourth and final revised form. An argument had formed around the usage of the term daddy. Kylo vehemently opposed it. 

He presses a wet fingertip to Hux’s little hole, making him squirm.

“What makes up the universe?”

“Dark matter,” Hux says. His breath fogs up the glass. The reflection of objects fly past.

“What percentage?”

“An estimated eighty-five percent of the universe is made up of dark matter, sir.”

“What is balance, then?”

“The dominance of darkness, and just enough light to amplify its presence.”

Kylo pushes his finger inside. “Look at my apprentice,” he says as Hux’s tight heat gives around him. “Already wiser than the entire Jedi Order.”

Hux moans, head lolling forward. He presses his forehead to the transparisteel, the jut of his bones visible through his skin.

“Is light absolutely necessary?” Kylo curls his finger, slides it in and out experimentally. He’s exploring the glory of Hux’s body: they’re both learning.

“Just in the observable universe, sir. Dark matter does not interact with electromagnetic radiation.”

“It thrives in the total absence of light.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What can stop you, then,” Kylo says, “to feel the darkness around those objects—to use nothing but the dark to put them back. The Corellian whiskey, first. Don’t look. Can you sense the bottle?” He taps on Hux’s prostate, softly. He feels his senses lighting up, his skin tingling. Presses a kiss to his nape; tastes electricity. He keeps fucking him with his finger, a soothing rhythm until he hears the dull clank of glass on wood. He grins, the wet heat of his breath tickling Hux’s hair as he nuzzles him. “Good job.”

“Careful, sir, I might come before we’re done.” 

“You won’t. You not only control your surroundings, but your body.” He reaches forward with his left, strokes Hux’s hard cock with his knuckles. “I couldn’t do anything to stop you.” 

“Fuck,” Hux mutters.

“Do you want to up the challenge? Should we just settle—”

“I can do it,” Hux promises. “Sir, please. Let me prove it.” 

Kylo closes his fingers around Hux’s chubby shaft. It fits into his hand so well; the tightness of his ass is exquisite, clenching around Kylo’s thick fingers as he pushes in his pointer. He buries his face into the curve of Hux’s neck. He’s overwhelmed to be granted this much, after all those lean years.

“I know my General can take it,” he says, scissors his fingers. There’s a crash from behind them. “My bad,” he admits.

“It’s just—you feel so nice, sir, your hands are—warmer than expected, and—oh stars, oh stars—true to scale, shall we say, so _big—_ ” 

“I won’t stop until you tell me,” Kylo says. “I’ll be pleasing you while you focus your powers. I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Fuck,” Hux says. He cranes his neck to press his lips to Kylo’s hair, pushes back. Kylo’s hand fingering him is pressed to his own cock. It takes all the willpower Kylo has not to pull his dick out, even though it’d feel so good to be buried in Hux, slick for him now. It’d be too much to ask, too much to expect: the clink of bottles is far more important than instant gratification. Hux’s bond to the darkness beyond the viewport surprasses the loyalty he owes to Kylo. He’s touching him in his most private places, but he’ll never know him as thoroughly as the Force knows everything. He’s tempted to pour his power into him, but Hux might not survive it. What he can give him is this: a pull, a twist, stroking his cock and fingering his hole, until Hux’s knees nearly give up, until he’s supporting his entire weight on Kylo.

What could Kylo do, but hold him?

The last item lands softly, a silver cigarra case neatly aligned with the sides of the table, mathematical perfection within the throes of pleasure.

“Look at you,” Kylo whispers, “what admirable control you have.”

“Please let me come,” Hux pants, getting cross-eyed. “Please let me come, sir.”

“You deserve it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Say it.”

“I deserve to come, sir.”

Kylo presses down on his prostate, pumps his cock. Hux slumps against him, crying out as his come paints the viewport, as he’s writhing on the hook of Kylo’s fingers. Kylo holds him through his orgasm. He’s afraid of what he might say, so he says nothing, stands there with his aching cock as Hux keeps coming and coming.

This is their agreement. Hux doesn’t need to hear the degree of Kylo’s esteem; whether he likes him or finds him attractive is presently irrelevant. _I love how pretty you are when you come_. It’s still on the tip of Kylo’s tongue, but Hux has come, he’s gone: flattery is of no use anymore. He’s once again his colleague, not his apprentice. The scene has ended.

Kylo takes the muzzle off him, carries him to a couch. Hux clings to him as he settles him down, but it is perfectly natural to crave affection post-coitus. Kylo kneels by the couch, puts his gloves back and pets Hux’s hair.

“Thank you, Ren,” Hux says. “I’ll need to clean the viewport.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Kylo says. He checks Hux’s heaving belly, but it’s clean. His softening cock smears some come over his milky thighs. The droplets are easy enough to wipe off with a clean towel he summons from the bar.

“Did you know you’re actually good at it?” Hux muses as Kylo dabs at his cock. “Being a—being like this.”

“Did you agree to this  arrangement expecting me to be shitty?”

“You’re a good teacher. But you’re a mean bastard. So I didn’t know what to—”

“Thank you for calling me a mean bastard just after I shared the mysteries of the Force with you and threw in an orgasm as a bonus.” He sets the towel aside, shrugs his cape off. Covers Hux with it, who hums, welcoming its soft heat. Kylo rubs his shoulders through it. He needs to take care of Hux. That’s why he’s here. His own needs can wait.

“Did you—?” Hux asks lazily, arching into his touch.

“Are you asking me if I came?”

“Yeah.”

“If I came in my pants.”

“Well, did you?”

Kylo sighs. “General, I’m twenty-nine years old.”

“Mm. I’m aware.”

“Twenty-nine year old men don’t come in their pants.”

Hux gives a curious glance to Kylo’ crotch, unabashed. He’s still hard. He’s getting worse at hiding it. It’ll go away on its own. “Nor do they stay this hard unless they’re close. I can’t go back to the scene right now, but I could jerk you off.”

“Whatever happened to professionalism?” Kylo asks, half joking. Cups Hux face to check his jawline for bruises. The muzzle didn’t leave a mark, this time.

“I could jerk you off professionally,” Hux offers. “Colleague to colleague.”

“Do you go around jerking off colleagues? Don’t answer that. If you want to reciprocate, let’s just say you owe me.”

He doesn’t really mean it, but Hux’s nose twitches delightedly as Kylo rubs his sideburns. He’s—smiling.

“I’ll think of a surprise,” he announces. “A surprise you’ll like.”

* 

Kylo has never jerked off this hard. He’s using both hands to wring his cock dry, face buried into the pillow Hux has slept on, which soon ends up between his thighs. Kylo humps it, hard, then goes back to pumping his cock. It’s torturous.

He made a point of re-negotiating Hux’s proposal on mutual climaxes. He wanted to be different than his former lovers. Better.

He comes all over the poor pillow, then laps it up, sucks his own come from the fabric. He expects to feel pathetic, but there’s a thrill instead, because he might like to share it with Hux, later—watch him do this, or feed his come to him, lick it up from his lips. He cuddles the saliva-soaked pillow, hair hanging into his eyes. What a surprise. Hux has enchanted him, made him into this beast who can’t resist following an animal urge; but he’s never felt more powerful, or more in control.

They’re stronger together.

Snoke must’ve sensed that.

Kylo’s eyes fall shut. He dreams of lightning and ashes. An altar, a carved message.

_Knock-knock.  Let me out._

*

There’s nothing wrong with the holocron.

Correction: Kylo cannot find any fault with the holocron.

He meditates over an hour, and nothing seems amiss. If it were to be opened, it’d replay the same message from beyond the grave. This sense of dread must just be his anxiety; the ghost, too. Maybe the memory of Snoke haunts him, because he—he is—happy.

Snoke never thought it was something he deserved. He was to be forged into a weapon. Beaten until he took his final shape.

He never knew Snoke kept a hidden blade up his sleeve.

He’s discovered it: what could possibly threaten him now, armed with contentment?

 _Loss_ , his mind supplies. Why would he get to keep anything? He couldn’t keep his name, his legacy. He’s a beggar turned usurper. They can all smell the blood he shed. He killed his Master. He haven’t even told Hux how it ends, have he? How it always ends with the Apprentice, and the Master, and the flash of a blade.

“The sensors are still going crazy, sir,” Unamo says, keeping up with him on the bridge, which is admirable, because he’s all but running, restless and afraid. Hux is in his office, locked away from him—safe—he must be safe.

Snoke’s spirit would do anything to avenge their union.

“The food supplies,” he says. “What about that?”

“The rot spreads.”

“And now we have cold spots.” Kylo draws to a halt by the viewport. Looks into the yawning darkness of space, his fingers curling into fists.

 _Ensign Unamo, we’re being haunted_.

“The cold spots remain unexplained. Heating is operational.”

“Has General Hux been alerted?” Kylo asks, gaze flicking between stars. Where could Snoke be hiding? How many souls drift through the aether, unanchored? How many of them will come back?

“I didn’t think it’d be advisable, sir,” Unamo says.

“He’s the head of engineering. He knows this ship like the back of his hand. When there’s a technical problem, the first thing you do is—Never mind. Why didn’t you contact him?”

He looks down at Unamo, who bites her lips, peers around discreetly.

“I was under the impression you would not want him involved, sir.”

“He’s our most qualified officer in operational terms.”

“I am aware, sir,” Unamo confirms.

“Oh,” Kylo says. Do they—could anyone have found out? Is he getting paranoid? He’s going insane. He needs to— “Is my personal relationship with the General clouding your judgement?”

—unravel, needs to—

“I am afraid it was an influence on my decision-making process. It won’t happen again, sir. After Crait—”

—breathe.

“Crait,” Kylo repeats.

“We’ve all got the impression General Hux was out of favor,” Unamo says.

Kylo remembers the hollow sound of a body clashing against durasteel.

“It’s not like that,” he says. “Not anymore. Under my command there will be no more bureaucratic tension, but a united Order. Nothing will stand in our way. The Finalizer is our flagship, it must be—”

*

“Haunted,” Hux says slowly. He’s sitting behind his writing desk, among projections of his strange matter project, quark stars spinning by endless rows of calculations, the prototype of a blaster.

Kylo nods, makes a face. “Snoke has cursed me,” he says.

Hux puts his fingers together, forming a little tent. “Consider this,” he proposes. “You’re not accustomed to ruling, Ren. You don’t know how many misfortunes befall the daily operations of a star destroyer, because you’ve only encountered solutions before.”

“I was his right hand,” Kylo objects. “I knew about everything.”

“You were his butcher,” Hux counters softly.

Kylo shakes his head, runs his hand through his hair as he starts pacing the small office. He feels trapped. His fingers catch on a tangle. Perfect. He must look disheveled, must look like a madman.

“Do you suspect foul play?” Hux asks. “Do you suspect me?”

“No,” he says dismissively.

“It would be a logical assumption. I was there. I was—”

“It’s not your style,” Kylo waves him off. Something shifts over Hux’s face, softening his gaze.

“You trust me.”

“If you were behind it, I’d have had a strange accident. You don’t _do_ psychological torture. You’d rather break my neck with your own hands; it’s _cleaner_.”

“You trust me,” Hux repeats, getting up to his feet. Kylo stops to consider this. Does he? Should he?

Hux settles down on the desk’s edge, tugging off his glove. His wrist flashes, bright like snow.

“What are you—”

“Come on.”

“No. I don’t want to do that. It gives you visions. It’s horrible.” He takes a deep breath. His lungs hardly expand. “The last time I held a Force-user’s hand, the Supreme Leader ended up dead.”

“I know the girl helped you kill Snoke, it’s bloody obvious,” Hux says, moves his fingers. Kylo swallows further objections, approaches Hux, ever so cautious. The little office is getting progressively more claustrophobic, as if the walls were pushing in. He’s cornered by the decisions he’s made. He’s been retelling his story so much he hardly knows the truth anymore.

“Snoke could do us a favor and haunt _her_ ,” he mutters as he peels off his glove. Hux chuckles at that. Kylo stands between his legs. Hux is not wearing the muzzle. Hux is not his to claim, not right now, not like this. Their fingertips kiss. Hux’s hand is soft and smooth, narrow compared to his rough paw. Thin hands that shaped the world. At the snap of his fingers, planets could cease to exist.

But nothing is happening.

Not at first.

He’s sensing the eclipse of Hux’s Darkness, blocking out all the light. It’s like a starless winter night. Kylo could wander in his mind endlessly, marvel at his majestic capability. He can be himself, here; no aliases, no stories. Hux calls his name and he responds, and Hux shouts and shouts—

He opens his eyes.

He’s back on Starkiller.

The world is on fire.

This is where it all went to hell. He was left to die, shivering and bleeding out. His wounds felt like they had kept expanding, tearing through his flesh until there was nothing left but a dull agony.

The last thing he saw then was Hux’s face. Worried.  “Commander Ren, do you hear me?”

He sees him now, dressed like his Knight. His lightsaber is ignited. Blood is dripping from the muzzle. Kylo turns his head, however it pains him, the fresh scar on his face oozing pain. The trees are burning. The snow is melting. The girl, the traitor: they have been defeated.

Kylo laughs with relief. Keeps laughing.

The scene shifts. He’s in the office. Hux’s fingers are linked with his. He’s holding his hand, holding on strong. He won’t ever let go.

“You’ve always been by my side,” Kylo says, choked up and overcome.

“I’ve told you. I’m your guardian.” Hux taps his belt with a finger. Taps the tracker.  It’s the softest caress. “If Snoke is haunting you, we’ll fight him together.”

Kylo sways forward. Hux is there to catch him.

*

Dragging a kiss-drunk general into said general’s chambers in the middle of their shift is probably against a set of regulations, but neither of them seem to care. This little trespass shall be forgiven: Kylo is certain he’ll die if he doesn’t keep kissing Hux. They stumble into his tasteful bedroom, black and blue, and Hux summons the muzzle to his hand.

“Fuck yes,” Kylo mutters, making Hux chuckle as he fastens it over his face. He cannot be kissed like this, but Kylo wants his colleague and his apprentice equally, finding his versatile general just as remarkable as his keen student. He makes quick work with his jodhpurs, then remembers to take off the boots first. Hux laughs as Kylo Force-pushes him to bed, kneels down in front of it to fight the tight leather.

“There’s a zipper—there,” Hux says, but Kylo has managed to yank it off him already.

“I’ll get you new ones,” he growls, frees Hux’s dainty feet from the other boot. He’s wearing standard black socks with garters, a small vibroblade tucked in the strap. Kylo leaves them on, tugs off the jodphurs all the way and makes Hux spread his legs. They feel freshly waxed.

“I think I’ll leave your tunic on,” he muses as he flaps up its hem, revealing Hux’s underwear. “It looks like you’re wearing a shiny little dress.” He tears off his briefs, the fabric breaking to expose his flushed cock, the tip wet already.

“No respect for the sanctity of the uniform, sir?” Hux asks, breathless. His pupils are dark and fat. His hair is slicked back, making his cheekbones stand out more. He looks like he used to look, before the Supremacy fell, before Starkiller: lively and ardent, a fervent mind full of ideas, a young man ready to prove himself. 

“Does your uniform not mark you as mine?” Kylo asks as he climbs up to bed, reaching down to get his own dick out. “Am I not your Supreme Leader?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Am I not your Master?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What am I to do with you, huh?” He gives his cock a restless pull, unsure about the objective. He could, by all means, kneel over Hux and masturbate, drench his neat uniform with his come—he could do that, if it’s been negotiated, and if Hux wasn’t staring at his dick open-mouthed and slightly panicked.

“Sir, if I may—shit.” 

“Language. Tell me what you want. Won’t move until you do.”

“That,” Hux says, awed, pointing at Kylo’s dick with his chin. “Stars, sir, you’re so big. You’re bigger than I ever—”

“Flattery is not necessary,” Kylo interrupts gently. He’s not fully erect yet, although sufficiently aroused to fulfill whatever scene they manage to arrange—hopefully, in a timely manner; he’ll contend for something hard and fast, climb over Hux and stab his cock right into him, pound him into the mattress until he screams his throat raw—

“You’d rearrange my organs, sir,” Hux notes in a tone that indicates it’d be a pleasant experience for him. “I still owe you, I got us something, but we—what do we have, fifteen minutes until beta shift?”

“Twenty if you’re willing to ruin your punctual reputation.” 

Hux is still staring at Kylo’s cock, which is steadily filling under such hungry scrutiny, the flared head wet,  the vein on the underside getting visible. “Please get naked, sir,” he says.

“Undress me,” Kylo commands as he sits back on his heels, within Hux’s reach but not touching him, in line with his knees. Hux is quick to obey: takes off Kylo’s cape, the belt, starts on the tunic. The minutes don’t feel wasted: the way he’s frowning in concentration is adorable. “What do you have in mind?” Kylo asks, voice just a low murmur as if he was afraid he could scare Hux away. Hux takes off the tunic like he was unwrapping a gift, glares at his exposed chest.

“Would you like to fuck my thighs, sir?” 

Kylo looks at Hux’s his slutty little tunic hardly covering the top of thighs, creamy-white on the blue bedsheet, smooth and inviting.

“Get the lube,” he growls. Hux rolls to his side and reaches for the nightstand, but Kylo grabs his wrist, pins his hand to the mattress. “Don’t cheat,” he says.

Hux gasps under the heavy pressure of his body, but compiles, eyes drifting shut as he summons the Force. The drawer slides open, exposing a most curious collection.

“You keep busy, I see,” Kylo tells him, squinting at the abundance of colorful dildos, beads and plugs.

“I love cock, sir,” Hux says brazenly. The bottle of lube emerges: there’s a little left at the bottom.

“Good to know you’re just as studious and tireless in sex as in anything else.” Kylo gives Hux’s cock a distracted stroke. Hux’s hips buck, and the lube drops back. “Better pick that up, General, or I’m using my spit.”

Hux moans at the threat, so Kylo  licks his palm and slides it between Hux’s legs. “Hurry up,” he advises. Smears the saliva around, then dips his head to lick at the sensitive skin. Hux’s thighs part slightly, instinctively, inviting him in. Kylo uses the occasion to bury his face there, rubbing his faint stubble over it, then probing with his nose. He takes in Hux’s scent, growling in pleasure. Hux can’t keep still: he’s squirming and thrashing, so Kylo gives him another nudge in warning, then pulls up to take a deep breath. Hux is holding the lube like a trophy, flushed down to his neck.

“Good boy,” Kylo says. Pushes the hair back that’s fallen into his eyes, notices how Hux’s gaze flickers to his biceps when he does that.

He loves cock, and big, strong men. It’s a safe assumption he’d enjoy being manhandled. Kylo hooks an arm under his knees, pulls him down across the bed as he gets up to kneel. Hux’s Force-energy surrounds him, reaching for him, begging.

Ten more minutes.

Kylo arranges Hux’s knees so they press together as his legs dangle over his shoulder, and extends his hand for the lube. He’s still wearing his pants and boots, but won’t waste time on them. He squirts a generous amount of lube onto his palm, slicks up Hux’s thighs just below his cock, jutting forward then slapping to his tunic as Kylo moves him.

“Alright?” he asks. Hux nods, pulls a pillow to him with the Force. Kylo grins proudly as Hux shoves it under his back, propping himself a bit higher. “Learning so fast. Your telekinetic abilities will soon be beyond reproach.” 

“What do boys with irreproachable telekinetic abilities get, sir?” Hux asks, breathless. Kylo hums, dips his cock between Hux’s thighs, experimental. Hux moans, kicks out.

“They get fucked if they hold still.”

“Sorry, sir, I’m—”

“No, you can do it.” Kylo presses a quick kiss to his knees. He has absolute trust in Hux’s abilities, ready to reward him. He connects to his Force-presence as he lines up again. It’s stable, but unfocused. “Give me your belt.” 

Hux unclasps it manually, but Kylo decides not to remark on it: manipulating a buckle with the Force is rather complex. They’ll have all the time in the world to experiment with that, until they can undress each other item by item just by lifting their hand. Kylo wraps the belt around his knees, his cock pokes at the back of his thighs, smearing precome all over it. He thrusts into the tight warmth, enjoying the exquisite caress of the softness of Hux’s flesh. “Yeah?” he asks.

“Much better, sir.”

“Just focus on the belt. Tighten it, if needed. Let the Darkness hold you through it. Let it hold you for me.”

“Yes, sir,” Hux says. He’s incredibly flexible: Kylo has noticed that early on, and it’s been plaguing his imagination. He could bend over a console to plug it in like nobody’s business, little ass up in the air, he could fold himself into the cockpit of a TIE-fighter to explain the new design as if he was in zero G, and now Kylo—finally—can take advantage of it, rut his dick in and out of those shapely, long legs, watch Hux’s cock sway with the movement, dripping precome over his spotless uniform.

“You’re so pretty,” Kylo says before he could think better of it. “So pretty for me.”

Hux looks up at him, tearing his gaze away from Kylo’s cockhead peeking through his thighs, squeezes in answer. “Only for you, sir.”

Kylo grunts, eyes falling shut. He’ll need to hear that again. He’ll need to keep hearing this, _I’m yours, you get to keep me. Do what you please_. He’s holding Hux’s legs, supporting his weight, and starts putting some strength into it, no longer afraid he might break him, grinding his hot length deep.

The lube sqluenches and his balls slap against Hux’s ass. He loves the sound of sex, loves how it smells—the discovery is novel: that there are other things to it than the wet heat around his cock. If he knew what lovely little sex noises Hux makes, how he whimpers and pleads, he’d have fucked him earlier, fucked him the first time they met. Stars, he’d have burned down the temple earlier.

“May I touch myself sir, please may I—”

“Just don’t use your hands,” Kylo says, gentle. Hux whines, his head rolling to the side. His little cock is the cutest thing Kylo has ever seen, arching for release and not getting any. Kylo takes mercy on it, aims the next thrust so his own cock slides over it. Hux’s eyes roll back as he yelps. “There,” Kylo says.

Hux swears in a language Kylo doesn’t understand, and he wants to ask him about it—wants to know everything.

“Show me,” Hux is begging. “Show me the Dark again!”

Kylo applies invisible pressure on Hux’s abandoned cock, fucking his trembling thighs like an animal. Passion is pure, passion is right: they just have to accept its energy, let it surge through their bodies, let no shame or uncertainty block it. “Do you feel it?”

“It’s glorious—”

“Command it,” Kylo says. “Call upon the Darkness and let it stroke you off.”

Hux rubs his thighs together, milks Kylo’s cock for pleasure. “Won’t you be jealous?” he asks. His eyes are green in the soft lights, his orange hair is burning.

Kylo might be in love with him.

“As long as I get to watch, not really,” he says softly. The control Hux shows is stunning: the belt tight around his knees, hips up in the air, and the movement of his fingers, as if he was just clawing at the sheets, but Kylo can sense the pulsing heat around his dick as he slides over it again. Hux’s breath hitches, his face contorting. “Look at you,” Kylo whispers in awe. “You’re so much more powerful than anyone ever assumed.”

Hux’s thighs clench around his shaft, smooth and dripping with lube. “Thank you, my lord.”

“It’s all you,” Kylo says. “It’s all you, General Hux, I—they have no idea—”

“Will we show them, sir?” Hux asks. “Will we show them what I can do?”

Kylo knows what he means, the Force, his calling, but it sounds like Hux is asking to be fucked in front of everybody—and wouldn’t that be something, showing this off to the galaxy, let Hux ride his dick on the bridge, have Hux taking his cock on the ruined throne, or have this, exactly this, with the officers watching—

Out of favour, like hell—

Hux’s power must be established.

“You’ll be my Grand Marshal,” Kylo tells him, drilling his dick deep, hips twitching up into Hux’s heat. “You’ll be by my side always. If you want that, make me come and I’ll mark you mine.”

Hux shudders, nipples peaked through the fabric of his tunic. His cock twitches; a caress of velvet darkness, a nudge of Kylo’s cock, and he spills his load with a helpless moan, come squirting across his chest, his belly, even his chin.

“You like that, huh,” Kylo asks.

“Very much,” Hux grits out. He shifts his thighs with a determined expression, rolls Kylo’s cock between them as his orgasm is still racing through his body. He cants his hips and pulls his thighs towards his heaving chest, Kylo’s cock trapped between them. Kylo follows his beckoning, surges forward and falls down to his elbows heavily.

Their gazes lock as Hux cups his heated face. Kylo chases the touch, pulling out then pushing back inside between Hux’s slick thighs, so close to his little hole. He’ll fuck that hole full with come until Hux is wet everywhere, swimming in sweat and lube and Kylo’s seed, squirming for more, writhing for dick—

Hux presses his thumbs to Kylo’s temples.

Something in his brain flares up. The pleasure center. 

He comes so hard he blacks out for a moment.

“Am I promoted, sir?” Hux asks. He's absolutely drenched in come.

*

“With your permission—the rank of Grand Marshal is non-existent within the Order,” Canady says, trying to keep up with Kylo’s long steps as he leaves the conference room.

“As I am well aware. By proposing the promotion of General Hux, it’s heavily implied that Grand Marshal will hereby be part of our ranks,” Kylo replies with an impatient edge. He’s tired of people who treat him as if he couldn’t read the Order’s rules: he can read _cursive_ and speaks at least eleven languages _fluently,_ even without telepathy. His education has always been overshadowed by other abilities, be it the Force or the general sense of strength he emits. The troopers and soldiers patrolling the Finalizer’s corridor salute him: he is respected and feared, but he’s not accepted. It’s about to change. “As part of the ceremony, I will not only clarify this, but establish my own position as well by revealing Master Snoke’s last will and testament, may he rest etcetera. See to preparations at once.”

“Supreme Leader,” Canady pleads, face flushed as he jogs along. His sweat amplifies the appalling aftershave he’s using. “It’d be advisable to consult the board of officers before we proceed with—”

“I can’t recall asking for your input, Captain Canady. Is my memory failing me?”

“General Hux is awfully young,” Canady blurts out. He draws to a halt, chest puffed out. A brave little soldier ready for his inevitable punishment. Kylo idly wonders if it’s a trait shared among gingers as Canady heaves, blinks rapidly. Kylo lets him breathe and lets him speak, mostly to irk him. He can sense that Canady expects to be choked, pushed aside, dismissed. Kylo won’t pay into his expectations: he stops, folds his arms over his chest, head tilted. Pretends to be interested. “It is a concern, sir,” Canady babbles.

“How so?” Kylo drawls.

“There are several senior officers among our ranks who have dedicated their entire life to rebuild the Empire. To not reward their efforts, and favour someone so inexperienced instead—”

“General Hux is perfectly qualified to be Grand Marshal. He should’ve been promoted years ago.”

“Years ago? Sir, he’s thirty-four.” Canady drops his voice, as if it was confidential information, leans in close. “I knew him since the Battle of Endor. Still the same scared child.”

“He’s five years my senior,” Kylo says softly. “I was born nine months after Endor. Would you also question my position, Captain?”  

“Never, sir,” Canady says as his mind screams y _es._

_Imposter._

_Usurper._

_Charlatan._

_Brat of Rebel scum._

“Proceed with preparations as instructed,” Kylo says as his fingers curl into fists. He’ll show them: all the naysayers, all the deniers. He’ll step to the throne on their backs, and lift Hux up as well. They’ll rise above their origins together. _Rebuild the Empire my ass_. They’ll make something new, something magnificent, indestructible, everlasting, hallowed.

They’ll make something that’s theirs. 

*

The Finalizer’s mess hall has been swiftly decorated for the occasion: long red banners stretch from room to ceiling, the gray floor shines with polish, and legions of troopers stand at attention, facing the throne Kylo had erected. His mask is mended, and he wears it like a crown, a constant reminder of the weight of his position. Hux’s new uniform has gold accents instead of the former silver. It matches his hair better. The greatcoat rests on his shoulders and sways gently as he kneels. This is the time to say something, but Kylo is slightly distracted. Sitting like this, legs spread, back straight, and Hux on his knees reminds him of last night, a busy night like all nights had been since he fucked Hux’s thighs and promised him power. He worked hard to deliver on that pledge, and Hux waited, so good, so patient, kneeling by his chair and resting his head in his lap, naked except for the muzzle. Kylo petted his hair while working on his datapad—it was awkward to type with one hand, but he wouldn’t stop caressing Hux for the world.

He even let Hux suck his cock before bed, fucked his throat raw then slept cuddling him, Hux’s little butt pressed to his dick. He was semi, but too tired to do anything about it, just enjoying Hux’s closeness, his willingness to be intimate even without the muzzle. He appreciated that Hux’s loyalty wasn’t exclusively tied to their agreement, that he’d rest in Kylo’s arms, unguarded, not a general or an apprentice, but himself, all roles abandoned yet his heat still yielded, his body still shared. That Kylo was free to touch him, as long as he stayed clear of his ass and cock, things he only owned within their contract. But then morning came, and they had ten minutes to spare, so Kylo just climbed over him and rubbed his dick all over Hux’s, morning erections sliding together and Hux once again calling him _sir_.

He’d claim him tonight, dress him up and fuck his supple ass, mount him like a beast, rosy nipples pinched between nails, bite his neck and not let him come until Hux worked on his telepathy a little bit, until he could say _please sir let me orgasm_ even with a ball gag.

He’s hard in his pants as he says “Rise, my Grand Marshal.” His layers protect his dignity as always, but a sick part of him still hopes Peavey or Canady will see. Think that Hux got where he is just by sucking dick. That all Brendol’s bastard had to be was pretty. They’d never recognize Hux’s brilliance; it’d serve them well to see their prejudice confirmed. To live with the knowledge that the Supreme Leader’s little pet will always outrank them, a cockwarmer, a cumbucket, that no matter how they try to degrade him, Hux won’t be affected by shame: that what they think of as perverse and cheap only exalts him.

Hux is beautiful today. He’s glowing. It’s the light a nova emits. Kylo doesn’t understand how could someone look at him and not admire him for who he is. There’s a smirk on his full lips as he bows his head. Kylo also knows for a fact there’s a plug up his ass. He sealed him up himself, saved his open, wet hole for later. This is their future: this is what they get to have, a room with a couple thousand people and it’s only them who matter, only them who’re worth a damn, and Kylo wouldn’t mind losing all this if Hux was his to keep.

But ruling fits him. The power to shape the galaxy. At the wave of his hand, the holocron is brought in by Canady. He’s made to climb the stairs to the throne, pass Hux. To hell with him and his old boy’s club; to hell with Snoke; their only function was to hand over their heritage, the things they gathered and wasted, so the next generation can be different—triumphant—true heirs of Sidious, of Vader.

Kylo takes the holocron in his gloved hands, gets up to show it to the crowd. He won’t be threatened by the past. He won’t be threatened by bones and dust.

“Behold,” he says through the voice modulator. “Supreme Leader Snoke’s last will is to be revealed: my regency ends and my rule begins. Its legitimacy won’t be questioned again. See for yourself.”

He lets go of the holocron, which hovers in the air. Its lights pulse, blood-red, illuminating Hux’s proud face and Canady’s grimace. Kylo can only feel his intentions shift once it’s too late.

“The First Order shall be independent of ancient religions!” Canady shouts.

“Down with the rule of occultists!” Peavey answers from the crowd. A dozen officers jump to their feet while others yell and scream. Peavey has a thermal detonator with him. He hauls it at Kylo: he knows it to be a distraction, but still has no choice but catch it, hand extended. It blows up in the air, the explosion contained by Kylo’s power. Chaos erupts on the floor below: the loyal officers attack the saboteurs, the troopers caught in the crossfire of opposing orders. The first blaster shot goes unnoticed; the second, not quite—it makes a distinct sound, it sounds like—

“Droidekas!” Hux shouts. Six of them: they roll through the parting tide of troopers, unfold themselves just by the stairs, sharp metal legs hitting the floor with a sickening scratch, and prepare to fire again.

“Shit,” Kylo grits, reaches for his saber—Hux is faster. He leaps down the wide stairs with a savage yell, lightsaber ignited.

“What the _hell_!” Canady bellows. Kylo grabs him by the throat, drags him down the first two steps of stairs.

“Look at him,” he spits, fingers crushing his windpipe so the last thing he sees is this: Hux dropping his greatcoat to the ground as he deflects blaster fire, his vermillion blade humming through the air, spitting plasma everywhere. The officers watch him, gaping, frozen mid-fight: fists are raised, but no punches land, blasters are pointed but everybody is watching Hux with shock, with marvel.

Kylo drops Canady’s corpse.

He’s in no rush to activate his saber. He wants all eyes on Hux, jumping over the droidekas to make a stab at the deflector shields from behind—of course he knows their weak spots: Jedi-killing machines are no match to an engineer. His movements are elegant, fluid, a deathly dance he’s learned from Kylo himself, which he perfected. He gives himself over to the Darkness, lets the Force guide him, eyes closed in concentration as he drives home a killing blow.

Kylo has never been more proud.

He laughs through the vocoder, walks down the last steps with a hand raised, blaster fire frozen in the air around his figure. This is what the officers will never forget: how their leaders looked at this exact moment. Songs will be sung. Poetry penned.

The Force’s will is fulfilled. This was always his destiny: to be a Master to an Apprentice who would surpass him; to have the pride even Vader was denied with his traitorous protegés.

Hux screams, puts his palm over a deflector shield. There’s a blurt of electricity, coming from within, spreading and spreading. He finally knows how to control it. He has a reason to do it. His eyes meet Kylo’s, bright with the same question that was reflected in them on Starkiller: _are you well?_

The scorched remains of the droidekas fall to the ground in a melted heap. Hux gets down to his knees. Lightning is still surging through him, alighting his hair and his skin as he points the saber’s blade down to the ground, head bowed. The perfect image of submission.

Kylo walks to him, cups his face. Makes him look into the visor as he lets go of the blaster shots. Hux smiles as he hears them hit their targets, the traitors, those pathetic hindrances.

“You protected me well, Grand Marshal,” Kylo says. “Your loyalty will be rewarded most generously.”

Hux’s eyes round. Kylo thinks it’s in pleased surprise, then senses fear; doesn’t know where to place it—Hux has never been afraid of him, Hux has—

“ _You_ ,” a voice booms. “ _I have been murdered!_ ”

Kylo turns to face Snoke’s ghost. The holocron projects it just in front of the throne, life-sized this time around and a wavering blue, blocking Kylo’s way from fulfilling his destiny, as always. The mess hall’s air is thick with panic Snoke’s his former subjects pull back, look at Hux and Kylo for orders, for guidance.

This is where real leadership is tested. Snoke never understood that.

“Your blaster,” Kylo says.

“Beg your pardon, Ren?”

_“If Kylo Ren lives, send for him—my heir shall be he.”_

_The new one,_ Kylo thinks. _Trust me_.

He feels it in his palm before the thought is finished. It’s not as heavy as he expected. An unassuming little thing. _Playthings_ , Snoke used to say _. Why would you be jealous of the General’s trinkets? Starkiller, yes, but the rest is useless—what could technology ever achieve that the Force doesn’t grant? What could—_

Kylo pulls the trigger.

_—a weak little man invent to protect himself?_

_To be armed is to be afraid._

_You’ll learn to put aside saber and blade._

The blaster fires strange matter. It devours everything it comes in contact with, and maybe the soul-matter of a dead tyrant is no exception in a world that’s moved by the Force, but where physics and science push _back_.

The holocron disintegrates.

Snoke is gone with it entirely.

Hux watches, mouth agape.

 _You told me fear was the purest form of survivor’s instinct_ , Kylo thinks at him fondly. _Grand Marshal Hux, you’ll keep surviving_.

*

It always ends like this: the Master is slaughtered by the Apprentice. Hardly anyone in the history of Darkness seemed to escape this prophecy, yet here they are, Hux, Kylo, and a spreader bar.

It’s a nice surprise.

Hux is on his hands and knees for him, ankles cuffed to a durasteel rod that keeps his legs from closing as Kylo eases the black plug out. They’re back in Kylo’s bedroom, back where it started, and Kylo is so hard he thinks he’ll pass out halfway through, but he needs to keep it together for Hux, because he’s been so good.

“You like this, don't you?” he murmurs as the lube trickles down Hux’s soft thighs, glinting in the low light. “Of course you do. So wet and ready for my dick. It’s been hard for you the whole day. Did you notice? Did it make you clench around your little plug, wishing it was my cock? You can have it now—do you want me to put it in? Good boy like you, I bet you could take it.”

“Sir, please,” Hux pleads, but there’s an edge to it—a bite that drives Kylo crazy. He dips his head and licks at Hux’s ass. All he can taste is the sweet, fruity flavor of the lube. He wants more: grabs two handfuls of Hux’s cheeks, spreads his ass as he laps at the rim again, then nudges the tip of his tongue deeper. Feels Hux’s muscles shift beneath his palm as he tries to move his legs in vain. The sounds he makes are so pretty, whining sweetly as he pushes back against Kylo’s face.

Kylo laughs, his breath tinkling the sensitive skin—he can feel Hux’s pleasure as if it was his own, coiling low in his belly. He reaches down to grab his own dick, tugs at it unceremoniously. “Now be good and hold still for me. I’ll feed it to you all at once, how about that? One jab, just like how you liked with the plug—do you want to take it all?”

“Please sir, I’m fairly certain I can take it,” Hux says through clenched teeth. Kylo gives him one last lick and a pat on the ass before he draws back, lines up, takes in the moment. Such a powerful man submitting to him; such might, all his, hidden within this slight frame. His little ass will fit his cock _snugly_ ; his thighs would only open for somebody he trusted. Fucking him will always be a privilege.

Kylo runs his hand up his pale back, pressing his torso down to the mattress as his palm comes to rest on the back of his neck. Hux moans, ready to be spoiled, ready to get the reward he worked so hard for, Kylo’s champion, his protector. Kylo thrusts in as if he was seeking shelter, puts his weight into it and covers Hux’s entire body with his, chest flush with his back, holding his hips to his. Hux screams, an inarticulate cry of bliss as Kylo bottoms out within.

“There,” Kylo whispers, pulls him even closer until it feels like they’re one body, one entity, the Force linking their consciousness and buried inside one another, inseparable. Kylo’s hips twitch up into Hux’s heat, his stretched out hole tight around his cock. He only moves in pulses, flexing and relaxing his ass until Hux gets used to the size of him, the length and the girth. He kisses his nape, whispers into his hair, “There you go, Grand Marshal, just like that.” 

“Master,” Hux says, his voice wavering; he needs to take a gulp of air, heaving with the exhale. “I needed this, I needed—”

“I know,” Kylo tells him, moves on to kiss an ear. “You earned it. How does it feel?”

“You’re enormous, sir, I can’t even clench my—fuck, fuck, fuck!” Hux writhes, turning his face to the side. It’s flushed beneath the muzzle, his hair falling into his eyes.

“Breathe for me,” Kylo asks him, slips his hands between Hux’s chest and the mattress. Presses it, helping him exhale, then kneads his nipples in encouragement. “That’s it, yes. Doing so well.”

Hux makes a sound resembling a sob. “I trained hard, sir,” he says.

When Kylo closes his eyes, he can still see the flash of lightning and Hux’s lightsaber.

“I know, pet. That’s why you get this big, fat cock. It’s yours now. Do whatever you want with it.”

Hux tries to push up against it, but Kylo’s weight is restraining him. He’s overwhelmed and overheated, panting under the press of Kylo’s body—and he loves it, he loves it, he loves it. His Darkness is ebbing, black water pulling Kylo in, pulling him impossibly deep.

“More?” Kylo asks him, bites his neck and pinches his nipples as Hux nods his consent. Kylo rotates his hips, catches a wave and bears down harder, fucks him into the sheets. He wants to give him the best fuck Hux ever had, because he deserves _only_ the best. “You feel so good on my cock, you have no idea. Wanna be inside of you all day.” He cants his hips forward, making Hux slide up the mattress, give some friction to his cock as Kylo ruts in and out, picking up the pace but not moving away, still keeping him pinned on his cock. He manages to fuck a proper sob out of him, so he gathers him in his arms, holds him tight as Hux starts crying with relief.

“I thought we might not make it out alive, sir,” he says. “Thought I’d never have this—”

“It’s okay, you—handled the situation, you were glorious—”

“Not now,” Hux hiccups. “Starkiller. I thought we’d die there, he didn’t give me back my powers before he sent me to your rescue—how was I to survive what stopped _you—_ How was I—it blew up and I didn’t even have the time to mourn it, I didn’t—” The rest is lost to a wail, hiccuping up from Hux’s chest and wrecking his whole body.

Kylo stills. He never considered Hux’s perspective. He’s not in the habit to consider anybody’s but his. Ashamed, he reaches for the muzzle’s  clasps, then thinks better of it, caresses his face.  “What do you need?” he asks gently.

“Keep going,” Hux rubs his ass over his crotch, seeking comfort and heat. “It feels nice, it feels nice to have you inside, you’re alive, you’re—Master Ren, Kylo, fuck—!”

“You’ll show them,” Kylo says as he grinds deeper, gives Hux the relief and pleasure he craves and so deserves. He might not be able to kiss it better or fuck it better, but he might as well try, might as well give Hux everything he wants. Pave his way to a future that is bright and victorious; what more could a teacher wish for than the success of their student? “You’ll build new weapons, disintegrate our enemies,” Kylo promises. “You like that, yeah? When there’s nothing left of them, not even corpses, not just dead but _gone_. You want them gone. You’ll have them gone. Nobody can stop you now, Grand Marshal Hux.”

Hux laughs, weepy, pushes back against him. “Don’t stop,” he begs. “I’m sorry I—bawling like, I—don’t even know where this comes from, please don’t stop, sir—”

“I won’t stop,” Kylo whispers into his ear hotly, gives his jawline a lick and starts fucking him hard and fast, with the quick, short jabs Hux likes. “Won’t stop wanting you even when you fall apart. I’ll be there to pick you up. Yeah? I’ll be there—you don’t have to keep it together, I’ll be there, I’ll be there.”

Hux gasps, then laughs again, lashes wet. Kylo squeezes his chest as he confesses, “Will you still want me if I tell you I came at that, sir?”

“Show me,” Kylo says, gets up to his knees and pulls Hux up with him. He slumps against Kylo, limp, the spread bar not letting him hide his softening cock smeard with come. “Beautiful,” Kylo says, then yanks Hux back onto his aching cock, making him moan and scoff.

“You must really like me, sir,” he says, holding onto Kylo’s hands gripping his hips for balance.

“I really do, yeah,” Kylo says, casual. “All of you. Always.”  

He can’t see his face, but he can tell Hux is smiling.

*

They sit on the bed’s edge, Hux cocooned in his greatcoat. Kylo is still naked. He helps Hux blow his nose. He never thought he’d do that for anybody. Never thought he’d give enough of a shit. At some point, he’d stopped caring about people altogether. Maybe telepathy had numbed him to the inner turmoil of others; maybe he was just never that empathic. Crying, in particular, had always bothered him. Made him feel helpless. Weak.

It’s different with Hux. He wipes his face with a wet cloth without thinking twice about it. Hux is his; he needs to take good care of him. Hux holds the muzzle in his lap, playing with the straps as Kylo combs his hair with his fingers, smooths his sideburns, which got slightly frazzled, checks his neck for bruises.

“You didn’t take it off me,” Hux says, cryptic.

Kylo hums, an automatic acknowledgement to the fact that Hux has spoken, that he shan’t be ignored, ever. He cares about what Hux has to say, what he really means, so he emits a low “Huh?” and hopes for the best.

“You didn’t take the muzzle off me,” Hux clarifies. “I don’t have your knack for telepathy, but I sensed that much. You thought about taking it off, but didn’t do it. Why?”

“We agreed I wouldn’t,” Kylo says. Slides his hands to Hux’s narrow shoulders, starts massaging them. The position has been demanding. He’ll massage his whole body.

“Agreements change. You could’ve asked.”

“Are you upset I didn’t?”

“No, I was—not in the right mindspace to consent, perhaps. So I’m just saying—next time, you might want to ask. When I’m not blubbering.”

Kylo moves on to his back, kneads it with his knuckles. Hux has a bad back. It needs tending to. Hux is delicate. Hux needs to be cherished, so he can do the work he was meant to do.

“What are you saying?” Kylo asks him. Hux frowns, embarrassed. Kylo can tell at least fifteen frowns apart, now.

“I might want to start a relationship outside of our agreement,” Hux says. Reaches for Kylo’s spent cock, lets his hand hover. When Kylo doesn’t say anything, he cups it, gives it a fond squeeze. “We might start dating,” he proposes. “See how we like each other, when we’re not student and teacher. I can’t imagine what rumours will say, but it’s best not to think about it.”

Kylo watches Hux fondle his cock. “No sex, though?” he asks, confused.

“See, Ren, that shows you still have a lot to learn about me.” Hux gives him a quick peck on his lips, then draws back a little, gaze flicking over his face. His eyes are hungry. “I fuck on the first date.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **Content warnings:** Kylo is manipulative, possessive, arrogant, stalker-ish, and not at all self-aware. He goes through some character growth, but is very much a villain. | choking (Hux chokes Ren pre-relationship), physical fight (Hux kicks Ren pre-relationship to settle an argument) | Force lightning (not Kylux) | a scene is not negotiated properly, and a misunderstanding, then a discussion results from it—no one is hurt (Hux submits to Kylo and touches his cock without verbal consent) | stepping on genitals (mild, consensual) | brief mention of death of beloved characters Mitaka (I’m sorry), Rey and Finn (in a vision, they’re fine) | graphic description of injuries (Starkiller flashback) | abundance of bodily fluids: Kylo has a come kink | Kylo calls Hux a good boy / pet (no age play/pet play though) | restraints: Kylo uses a spreader bar on Hux (consensual, like every kink in the fic) | murder (non-Kylux) | crying during sex (not in humiliation/pain)
> 
> If you need any further clarifications or have questions/suggestions, please don’t be afraid to [DM me!](https://twitter.com/forautumniam)
> 
> A million thanks to [ktula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktula) for proofreading and copyediting the fic, and for her invaluable help with the D/s dynamics (check out her [Come As You Are](https://archiveofourown.org/series/755823) series if you crave some dom!Hux) 💕 Shout-out to Kylux twitter for discussing [top!Kylo's favourite sex things](https://twitter.com/forautumniam/status/1118522070571343873) with me, I tried to include as many as I could :D
> 
> Now with gorgeous **ART** by fauxtalian: [Kylo putting on Hux's muzzle](https://twitter.com/fauxtalian1/status/1131929016577986560)
> 
> You can retweet a moodboard [here](https://twitter.com/forautumniam/status/1121138955162988545), or [reblog the fic](https://ao3feed--kylux.tumblr.com/post/184418276418/whats-up-danger) from the Kylux AO3 feed


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